Invited to picnic, magnificent spread,
we should have known where this garden path led.
With warmest handshake taken into the fold,
soon from finest picnic we’re tossed in the cold.
White wine and roses with which we were wooed
dried out and emptied, and we were consumed.
Consumed by corporate that gives not a damn
’bout tribulations of the common man.

Invited to picnic we joined in the work,
had nary a clue that storm clouds nearby lurked.
We cooked and polished, sweated neath the hot sun,
from fruits of our labor their midsections thickened.
Rah-rahed cheerleaders who formed pyramid;
now know the pep squad, macabre and morbid.
Like Beanstalk Giant who ground bones to make bread
our picnic tableau’s been turned on its head.

Invited to picnic, we joined in the games,
Corporate Olympics leave so many maimed.
Playing field angle certified by Escher,
we’ve zero chance of justice being served.
From the high tower with gold parachutes
our corporate masters look on resolute.
They share our anguish as we they do bleed,
though they reap windfall, please don’t call it greed!

Invited to picnic, but all’s been wrapped up
inside tablecloth dashed off with our stuff.
We made the dishes on which we all dined,
forgot that our masters had other designs.
So many speeches on fair-play and teamwork,
smile now in amazement as workers they shirk.
“Hey, it’s just business. It’s not personal.”
Corporate masters? Just go straight to hell.