We sit in the cold of the North Pole with
air-con on freezing, stoically wrapped in
our blankets and wearing wool socks with
thick-soled shoes - not fashion material -
yet we are all here in the open-plan office
except Madame Olympia whose special
enclosure, sound-proof - separate from
the rest on this floor - is empty
We suspect she suffers claustrophobia as
we ourselves would if we sat there, though
she has her own special air-con - can turn
it on warm while we shiver out here; in spite
of our ice-trap, we are here and she does not
even call with an excuse, the psychiatrist will
probably say sensitive people like Madame
Olympia are too good to mix with pioneers
Like us who can work in all conditions - Sir
Hillary would have been proud to have us
accompany him on his trip up Mount Everest,
we would have put all the Sherpa's to shame,
if we were in the trenches in WWII we would
have won the war single-handedly - so it is
easy to see why Mme Olympia cannot be
among such brave officials like us!
[Work Chronicles Friday - 26 October 2012]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem