When the shit hits the fan,
When the bullshit bingo is over,
When you can only smell steaming piles of horseshit,
Wheel a barrow into the meeting room.
Shovel up the crap for the compost heap.
Mix it with all the other odds and sods of daily detritus -
Carrot peelings, pea pods, rotten bits, slime -
Add the bulky bore of routine maintenance -
Grass cuttings, loo roll inners, shredded statements.
Trust the alchemy of the soil
And the worms’ patient processing
To turn it into rich black honeycomb
Smelling of promise and roses and tomatoes.
When the shit hits the fan
Try to think of it
As muckspreading.