Meetings

Author: Stephen W. Cote

Wrecked survivors at sea

Beaten and tired they cling

To a lifeboat railing

Glaring, hungry and angry,

At the aimless, misguided pilot

Who prattles away, enraptured

In sun-drenched confusion

Our minds wasted and withered

In the salt-blistered air

And no escape over

Predator-infested waters

We discuss at length the stitch

To apply to a patchwork sail

How I wish this to end, but

Hours melt ever so slowly

Until the meeting ends

We chose a crosshatch

But the wind had already blown

Our tattered sail to sea,

Twenty minutes into the meeting,

And it was soon understood,

No one knew how to sew

So the pointlessness of

The discussion and decision

Was evident to all, yet

Some still had questions

As if talking about solving

An obvious problem

With non-existent skills and materials,

Would somehow succeed

What sail is left to stitch?

And who knows how to sew?

And with what needle and thread?

Nay, they wonder if tasking

Out-of-sail workflow might maximize

Timeliness of deliverables,

And then frame opinion as asinine

And rhetorical questions,

Showing guff for gumption

Until, at last, you feel a shiver

A quiver of anticipation

That a gust might blow

Sending you on your way

That you may yet be saved,

From this precarious place,

A never-ending meeting

To your horror, you realize

This is no lifeboat,

And neither death nor rescue awaits.

So take your ration of meetings,

And consider the table a boat

To which you desperately cling,

Rising and falling on buzzword swells,

Drinking your fill of project charts,

And watch them raise the PowerPoint sails,

Whose animations are gulls

Swooping and pooping overhead,

And desperately pray for a miracle

That will see you to safety.