A Summary End Poem by Cullen Flynch

In the boardroom of Borden and Crippen
It was hot as a glass-blowers shop
'Cos the air-cooling thingy was busted
After someone spilled gin in the top

The directors had called for some bottles
Of cold drinks with lemon and ice
But the canteen was closed by inspectors
Who had found it infested with mice

Then the steward suggested that cocktails
Could be ordered from "down the Kings Head"
But due to a misunderstanding
They'd sent back hot coffee instead

So they sat in their jackets and waistcoats
Wishing what they were drinking was colder
And someone propped open a window
With an audit report in a folder

The Chairman, Lord Portly of Champton
Whose opinion never was moved
Was scarcely controlling his temper
Which the temperature hadn't improved

He insisted discussions continued
Of markets and costings incurred
Then just as the Chairman was speaking
An odd little jingle was heard

The sound was quite soft to begin with
Then began to get louder and soon
It was clearly and stridently playing
In the strains of a popular tune

Lord Portly was plainly unhappy
His face as though chiselled from stone
Fixed the board with a livid expression
And demanded: "Is that someone's phone? "

Well Cartwright looked over at Martin
And Martin looked over at Stack
Who nervously pulled out his handset
Then with patent relief put it back

So Stack looked at Finney and Thomson
Who both looked at Shelley and Hawes
And Shelley looked back at Lord Portly
And shyly asked "could it be yours? "

Lord Portly ignored the suggestion
And he pummelled the desk with his fist
"When I find out whose phone that is ringing,
I'll see to it that he's dismissed! "

But they all looked again at each other
And the jingling tune carried on
"If you don't shut that off, " cried Lord Portly
"I'll see the whole lot of you gone! "

But again the jingle persisted
If anything, more than it had
And Lord Portly leapt up from the table
With eyes that were bulging and mad

Then his face, from the colour of violets,
Drained away to the colour of ash
And his fists clenched the sides of the table
And he slumped on the desk with a crash

The directors were stunned and uncertain
As to how to react to his plight
Then Cartwright, assuming the mantle
Said "We'd better see if he's alright"

Well he lifted up Lord Portly's eyelid
Then he checked for a pulse with a scowl
But his Lordship was dead as a dormouse
That has just become lunch to an owl

So they covered the late Lord of Champton
And they solemnly left him right there
And each of them secretly wondered
If they might be appointed the Chair

In the boardroom unheard by Lord Portly
The jingle continued to play
But the phones that he thought had produced it
With their owners had all gone away

Meanwhile, in the car park, a vendor
Watched his products turn slowly to steam
And he gloomily turned off his chimer
Didn't ANYONE want an ice cream?