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Thursday, 8 March 2012


He came to me for advice,
thirty years a supermarket manager,
told he was past his sell-by date,
told he was a dinosaur,
told his face didn't fit,
told he wasn't good enough,
told to bog off
by a kid half his age.

He sat, hands trembling,
nervous timbre in his voice,
no HR procedure,
no sensitivity,
no clear reasons,
no guts from his boss,
in a closed room,
trapped in a corporate cage.

He said he had a choice,
the scrapheap or the final solution -
what comes after fifty,
what path to take at this crossroads,
what is there to live for,
what's the bloody point?
He left - which direction? - leaving me to guess............

...........his obituary was a fitting tribute, a sad waste nonetheless.

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