Accountants

They must have an interior life. 
It is one of the mysteries of the office.

Church on Sunday, a new car, a pet dog?

They reveal less than a goldfish.

They are strangers to emotions.
These people don't do words.

They prefer columns of numbers.
Their seeing eye merely records.

They are like Easter Island statues.
Don’t ask them about East Enders

Who put them here, and for what purpose?

We know why. It's to torment us.

Primly superior to those who
blurt out words, or who cry after a skinfiul
they are frozen in some Biblical hell –
a year zero, where feelings are sinful.