Spreading Gains

The spreadsheet always shows a healthy gain.

We track the pixels on the glowing screen

And optimize the metrics of our pain

To keep the corporate ecosystem green.

The metrics team has streamlined how we breathe;

We clock our bathroom breaks to maximize

The synergy of those who sit and seethe.

No matter if the junior staffer dies,

The spreadsheet always shows a healthy gain.

Our manager explains the new routine:

A synergy of synergy, designed

To scrape the marrow from the old machine

And leave the human element behind.

The layoffs came in waves throughout the spring,

A quiet harvest of the mid-career.

They took our desks, our chairs, our everything,

But looking at the charts, it’s very clear:

The spreadsheet always shows a healthy gain.

Now algorithms write the eulogy

For every project killed before its prime.

We celebrate our lean agility

By working sixty hours of unpaid time.

There are no products left for us to sell,

No customers to answer when they call,

Just hollow numbers in an empty shell,

A ghost-ship drifting down the office hall.

We starved the beast until the bones remain.

The office lights go out, the building shakes,

But far away, within a server bank,

An automated script awakes,

To tally up the profits as we sank.

The spreadsheet always shows a healthy gain.