End of That Work

(That was then,

already so it seems.

 

Soon enough I will write

Something about being

Washed up, Cloistered (?)

On the shores of privilege

Sheltered by huge Moreton Bays

And a mock-Gothic past

As I walked around stone

And salvias listening

To the knocking clanger

Of bureaucracy at work

Rubbing out history.)

 

In an email, long promised

Long awaited

A long attrition through

The working ranks and rants

They’ll use the word

Redundancy,

But I will be set free

At last,  to try my luck with

Poetry.

 

Copyrighted by the author

 

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