The rumor mill is humming
As it's running at full bore:
Word from the grapevine says that
A reorg. is in store.
And soon The Powers That Be
Are citing "re-alignment,"
Which for us can only mean
One thing: Reassignment.
So boxes now we scavenge,
Then we pack up all our stuff
And cough and sneeze amidst the haze
Of dust and lint and fluff.
Windex and compressed air
At each cube make a stop:
Coffee-rings fade, keyboards harvest
Crumb-farm bumper-crops!
Our PCs we then power down
And unsnarl spaghetti-wires;
Desktop Support is too swamped
With fighting bigger fires.
Traffic crowds the elevators
The hallways and the stairs
As we ferry stacks of boxes
And monitors on chairs.
We read our mail by smartphone
And quell the urge to thwack
That fool in our new office who
Has not begun to pack.
Greetings, my new cube-mate:
No doubt we'll get on fine--
So long as you keep to your half
Like I will keep to mine.
New roles and hats are donned
Tho' the going starts out slow.
And as the dust yet settles,
One thing I claim to know:
In my annual review
Surely this I did not mean
When I said that I could use
A little change of scene.
