‘He is still in a desperate hurry to get somewhere;
but it is doubtful if he knows where.’
   – Joyce Cary, Charlie Is My Darling

He used to make art but then
he joined senior management
and started making trouble.
He learnt to speak bullshit,
granular forms and bandwidth,
phrases that meant nothing
but impressed the suits in
charge, sounded good
as he climbed the ladder
of promotion and success.

‘Maximum Occupancy: 1 person’
says the sign on the office door.
He knows what it is to be alone,
knows how many people hate
him, would like to see him gone.
He goes, on to higher things:
a bigger place, more staff to bully,
more money to spend, more
pressure and stress. He wonders
when he became such a bastard,

wonders if the damage can be
undone. His wife thinks not
and leaves before he can make
a scene or excuse himself.
He is like Teflon, nothing sticks
and everything slides off,
but underneath this hurts.
He makes notes on his laptop
but there is nothing to discuss.

The man who has everything
is having second thoughts,
is ready to give it all up, retire;
move to the country, start over
again or just walk away, maybe
find time to paint and draw.
He would not have to pitch
a strategy or argue the case
for reorganisation, could live
and work without thinking why.


   © Rupert M Loydell

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