It’s THAT time of year again… The Apprentices – a poem

The Apprentices

They’re players, who don’t know the rules of the game,
Nefarious networkers gathering names,
Quantity not quality is their will
Watch them accumulate; they’ll never have their fill
Playing them off against one another
Duplicity and treachery like no other
Devious deeds by wicked ways
All served with a smile at the end of the day
As they stick that knife right in your back
They’re imagining ways they can get you the sack
In the conference suite they’re preparing to fudge,
The boss takes his place, getting ready to judge
The arguments start, accusations fly
Some of the players are stifling a cry
The boss leans and points to tell them they failed
They lost the deal, unaccomplished the sale
So now’s the time for recriminations
To save their souls in front of a nation
Lord Sugar points and shouts their fate
Another task looms to claim its bait


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