IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE
IT’S HARD TO BELIEVE
It’s hard to believe I’m redundant,
My productive worth measured by age.
My best before date now expired,
In reality I’m now retired.
I heard my name mentioned,
Then saw it on a list.
Pinned to the wall,
Next to the toilet,
At the end of my last shift.
I try to break it to my wife,
Who makes my lunch
Then says good bye,
Each morning as I live a lie;
Unbeknown to her and others,
In parks, where daughters, sons
Remind me of my younger self,
Before I wound up on the shelf.
The repugnant smell of indolence
Overwhelms me now.
Where once was drive
I face a constant war of attrition.
The merciless grind of
Suspends me betwixt and between
That bottomless pit of helpless rage,
Where lives of indeterminate age
Pass each other on the street.
Where do they go? Who do they meet?
Should I join the cafe culture,
On a cappuccino high?
Take a book, sit in the corner
And watch the world pass by?
Reflect on days that might have been,
When prospects all were bright.
Instead of trying to find the words
To tell my wife tonight.