No one starts off a project with the intention of it not going well, even failing. But for any number of reasons it happens. Sometimes the inevitable comes upon you with a rush. Sometimes it rises like the dawn over horizon and although you see it coming it is impossible to stop and there is nowhere to go. What we do when the moment of reckoning arrives is sometimes not clear until get here. One option is to ‘… give it the old jazz hands’.
I now sadly represent a thoroughly unsupportable stand.
After a miserable accounting year, so unreliably planned.
Regretting all the bright Ideas that I summarily canned.
Suffering from implementation, massively undermanned.
The author of a strategy that was ultimately dammed.
A catalyst for innovation, but now completely slammed.
There is no chance of back up, my fall from grace is grand.
I’m flying a busted aeroplane and I have nowhere to land.
Fuck me, even the suggestion box is completely rammed.
Got to report and watch growing flames vigorously fanned.
In the spotlight, I must present, and surely I will get panned.
Highlight all my personal failures, be infinitesimally scanned.
What to do? Deep breath, on the stage, strike up the band.
Puff out my chest, talk loudly and give it the old jazz hands.
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This poem is narrated by Lorraine Ansell, a British female voiceover professional.