I have never been able to spell ‘Bureaucrat’ without help
So this ode to those unworthy plodders
May involve spell-check more than usual
(And my ‘usual is a lot)

Dear mister bureaucrat what event are you planning this week?
Is the colour of the food synced nicely to the art on the walls?
Have you made sure the batteries in your taste-o-meter
Are fully charged and it’s loaded full of intellectual bon mots
Suitable for the evening?

Are the serving staff dressed in clothes they would never wear in real life?
And what strength level gel are you wearing in your hair tonight?
Have you made sure that there are at least four guests
Who have self help books up on Amazon?
And that there’s is an Instagram influencer standing by
To take pictures of the tables, before the messy humans sit around them?

Have you read at least three coffee table doorstopper epics?
With glossy pages and designer text?
So you can trade ‘facts’ with your boss, or whoever else looks important?

My God you look so neat, so vulnerable, so totally in touch
With the blank society VIPs,
But
You don’t look like you have ever read a poem you understand
Or talked to an actual artist you didn’t secretly resent

You’re smooth, not cool, but the people here
Who pay to be seen
Find you safe, and sufficiently sterile
For their needs
You are Washington, you are American
But do not fret; you could be dull and efficient
At any party for the rich and not quite famous
Anywhere in the world.

You jet setter you!

At home you are racist and crass, a small person, in a small expensive home
You have over decorated
But here, you are the very master of middle management competence
Bravo
You are Art Adjacent.