Plates full, glasses empty

This poem was inspired by an internal meeting about the future of the company given by none other than the CFO (a sign of the times perhaps that this announcement didn't come from the CEO). Many thoughts swarmed like strange locusts in my mind after the meeting, mostly around an imagined future carved and planned by the bean-counters (no disrespect intended - just that this vision may be a short-sighted one, or rather one based on a single view-point, where, I would argue it is right now, in endangered times for agencies that new, bold and brave paths need to be forged (Obama-esque rhetoric perhaps, but sincere).

Plates full, glasses empty
Intoxicated accountants make slurred speeches
in front of anxious dinner crowds
beans pile up on white china plates
bull roam and snort, smoky rings tumble out of nostrils
and no one is allowed to eat.
A free case of sparkling wine masquerading as champagne
sits ominously in the corner.
Faces nervously look at one another
stomachs growl in syncopated harmonies,
wine splashes on blue and cream paisley napkins
leaving a dark amber stain
that winks at the apprehensive crowd.
'Dishes used to be richer', mumbled the CEO
Duck a l'orange, foie gras and filet mignon
scents of memories float in front
of salivating quivering mouths
as the dinner guests look down
at grilled chicken legs surrounded by a few cheering peas.
No one dares to eat a morsel, or a mouthful,
as everyone is judged on side dishes and sacrifice
subtraction is not a tolerated equation
so guests sit (much fewer in number now)
uncomfortably
getting drunk on mediocre spirits
thinking of the future of menus
with a short-sighted master of ceremonies
who used to be a stock boy
making all the purchasing decisions.