Of
all the businesses, by far,
Consultancy's
the most bizarre.
For,
to the penetrating eye,
There's
no apparent reason why,
With
no more assets than a pen
This
group of personable men
Can
sell to clients more than twice
The
same ridiculous advice,
Or
find, in such a rich profusion,
Problems
to fit their own solution.
The
strategy that they pursue -
To
give advice, instead of do -
Keeps
their fingers on the pulses
Without
recourse to stomach ulcers,
And
brings them monetary gain,
Without
a modicum of pain.
The
wretched object of their quest,
Reduced
to cardiac arrest,
Is
left alone to implement
The
asinine report they've sent.
Meanwhile
the analysts have gone
Back
to client number one
Who
desperately needs their aid
To
tidy up the mess they made.
And
on and on - ad infinitum
The
masochistic clients invite 'em.
Until
the merciful reliever
Invokes
the company receiver.
No
one really seems to know
The
rate at which consultants grow.
By
some amoeba-like division?
Or
chemo-biologic fission?
They
clone themselves without an end
Along
their exponential trend.
The
paradox is each adviser,
If
he makes his client wiser,
Inadvertently
destroys
The
basis of his future joys.
So
does anybody know
Where
the latter-day consultants go?
