Job Satisfaction Poem by Mary Champion

There's too much rigidity,
we need more fluidity,
movement is now all the rage.
Social mobility;
join the nobility-
fat chance of that on my wage.
So get off your ass,
become middle class;
a job in high finance will pay
ten times what you're earning,
it's not that unnerving
to change, at the end of the day.

But the work that I'm doing,
although not accruing
sufficient to buy me a yacht,
is so satisfying
I'm loathe to go trying
a post in an ill-fitting slot.
A carpenter's craft is
what my kind of graft is -
the feeling of wood in my hand.
The chisel and hand-drill
enhance my hard-learned skill.
It's something they don't understand.

The sheer satisfaction
of woodwork in action -
a pleasure I cannot decline.
The world of computers,
of servers and routers,
will not be for me, or my kind.
And my mate, th' electrician,
has got no ambition
to nit-pick with lawyers all day.
Then Dave, he's the plumber,
says he'd do a runner
if he had to count beans for his pay.

Let them who are suited
get themselves recruited
as lawyers, accountants and geeks;
they too have their purpose
and offer a service,
but the next time some idiot speaks;
inanely opining:
advanced social climbing
is how we should make enough brass,
we hands-on hard grafters
will have him for afters;
for we're proud to be working class!