Nothing prepares you for the day
when you are called down
to hear your fate
A letter awaits
the managers are frown
bad news to give you
HR are around
Your time is up
after so many years
no time for sentiments
or even a few tears
You are out of the building
before you can breath
farewell to the city
what awaits me?
(I wrote this poem soon after I was made redundant in 2005, having worked in the City of London)
No comments:
Post a Comment