last rites by Martin Hayes

the look of laid off 53 year old men

unable to stop the tears

welling up inside their battered eyes the sight

of their broken bodies

walking out into the sun

for the last time the stink

of death as they start to split mocking us

still employed controllers that at least

they are now free again the pain

ripping them up the three kids and woman

they haven’t told yet the nine years left

on their mortgage and endowment payments

the collection

handed over in a manila envelope and the hurt

and utter uselessness they try to block out

as they buy large tequilas for everyone

in the pub across the road waiting

for the last of the last bells to arrive

and everyone to walk away

from them this time

for good

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