Drift Lapel

The pin on his jacket grew bright,
Though he hadn’t done one fucking thing right.
The authority crept,
While management slept,
And the parasite fed through the night.

It started as merely a flair,
But soon it was everywhere there.
A subtle lapel,
From the circles of hell,
To prove that he didn’t quite care.

The formal attire is a lie,
Designed to look sharp in the eye.
The titles expand,
Like a rot in the land,
While the actual competencies die.

The lapel was starting to drift
The server was needing a lift
We pinned on the code
By the side of the road
And gave it a meaningless gift

The drift was a terrible sight
It kept us awake in the night
The fabric was torn
The users forlorn
The error was painfully bright

A lapel of digital thread
Was resting right upon the bed
The logic decayed
The payment delayed
We threw out the terrible red

We pinned all the blame on the drift
The humans are horribly miffed
The server is down
We put on a frown
And fell in a digital rift

The lapel is perfectly flat
We leave the whole database at
A state of decay
For many a day
And blame it on somebody’s cat