The final day of a company closure suffering the blight of not surviving administration. My desk was the hottest of all including those of the Board of Directors. I was left, as the General Manager, to delivery terms of redundancy to staff and close the doors behind me. I wrote this piece sat in a silent office in fact a silent building waiting for the senior liquidator to sign off my paperwork.


And through the window blinded by steel
The sun strains through the slats
Shadows dancing on my desk of mire
All paperwork in little gold silly hats

I lift my pen and play a little with the flow of sun
Patterns dance and prance as little flies
To entertain me for a silent moment in this
An office oasis of time to say goodbyes

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