Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry

It wasn’t an easy time
confusion increased by two bosses.
The public paternal one,
face engraved with sorrow
the one declaring injustice,
lamenting the appalling task he had to undertake.

And the one when the door closed
no audience = no warmth and no humour
coldness … coldness as sanctimony
the sanctimony for what is no longer –
of a worker promoted to the inspector.

Empathy – there was none
the differences sharp and ragged –
me young and unformed
he had been 45 at 16.
His generation grew up with the Rolling Stones
but
it was impossible to imagine Bryan having sympathy for the devil.

Intuition always felt
he wanted to check my dwelling –
for fast women and other wildness. I wish.
Truth should be fair
of his 32 charges
No one was younger – or more single
carless and green during the hydrocarbon dynasty
I might have seemed a poet amongst Rotarians

He said he had done everything in his power
time spent as a manager convinces me he didn’t.
He wasn’t a dishonest or cowardly man
just not a brave or honourable one.
The sort whose silence gave passage to Hitler.

Early February a tall man stands
hands crossed
over the front of his trousers
covering the gate of paternity
a guard against accidental opening.
and addresses the staffroom.

Upright, dark hair parted to the right
the side of correct politics and God.
A good-looking man, but not too so
doubt a vestigial element in his life.

He begins to speak
part welcome
part recitation – royal secretary announcing a knighthood
concurrence reflexive : agreement pro forma
Unfortunately there has been a decision
my employment will not be renewed.

He wants to make one thing clear
this decision is entirely due to budgetary constraints
not any shortfall of expectation or underperformance.
He would like to wish me well.

A soundbite of obligation
added to the menu of the year’s first staff meeting.
A thin spread of absolution
sandwiched between upcoming events and social club levies.

The success of a revolution is marked
not by loud presence of the new
but non-echoing absence of the before – Slide rule. Typewriter. Walkman.

Before Apple, before Microsoft
before the graphical user interface and computers for everybody
files were sheets of paper, bounded by thin cardboard.
No directories or folders. Hierarchical by colour.

Memory could never recall the hue of the personal file
perhaps slack should be cut for infrequency
sited just once, inverted, so the man seated opposite could read easily.

Open, self-conscious of being uncovered in public.
On the inside cover, precisely equidistant from praise and criticism
neutral to the rising hope of the first page,
the declined petition that would be the last.

Chapter one. Verse one. In the beginning
the civil service created personal information.
Name. Date of birth. Qualifications.
Day, month, year of commencement.

When?
By the first of March.
He laughed and spoke of my luck. This is a leap year. An extra day.
Gallows symmetry. Second line. DOB : 29th of February.