Ralph Windle

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,
These hordes of women and of 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
Who deigns to make a client wiser,
Inadvertently destroys
The basis of all future joys.
So does anybody know
Where latter-day consultants go?

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