I cannot endorse your obvious redundancy
due to the work force’s current abundancy.
Our air of pathos is painful to bear
with all life’s prosperity gone from the air.
The garlands are down and the flambeaus blew out.
There’s no joyous reason for dancing about.
When bosses agree to some conciliation,
then it will be time enough for jubilation.
‘Til then, I’ll commiserate, cry in my beer,
wishing that you weren’t regrettably near,
for with you at work, I am fed and supported.
What will I do if your job is aborted?