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Poetry

Good Bloke that Tim, Or Maybe it was Jim…

By Stuart McFarlane

     WORK

It's strange; about work--
You work for a number of years.
Your employers are impressed
by your substantial experience.
'You're just what we're looking for.
An asset to the company.
Welcome on board!'

So you work a few more years
and all that experience just
keeps accumulating…
Till one day they call you in,
say how sorry they are
to let you go;
how, now, despite all your
years of experience,
you're just too old for the job!


VICTIM


They found him dead upon the ground
outside the tube at Camden Town.
At first they thought he was dead drunk,
another victim that succumbed --
not dead drunk, though, but only dead
(drank a lot as well, they said).
Strangers filed past, on their way home.

He lay there as he'd lived, alone.
Some winos around said they knew him;
name was Tim, or maybe it was Jim.
Seems he'd once had a big job in the city,
but he lost it, took to drink; such a pity.
The ambulance rolled up in the cutting light,
the body was then whisked away into the night.
The winos said they were glad to know him.
'Good bloke, that Tim. Or maybe it was Jim'.
Death at the Helm (1944) by Edvard Munch (1863-1944). From Public Domain

Stuart McFarlane is now semi-retired. He taught English for many years to asylum seekers in London. He has had poems published in a few online journals.                                                                                                                    

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