Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry

“ Could I see…?
That’s me sweetie
manager, owner, tea maker,
do you want a coffee sweetie?”
She called me sweetie
without flirt or flint.
Fffff she began and clamped …
scattering the pages of work history.
“ You don’t mind do you ”– then lit up
too bad if I did,
smoke-free yet to be invented.

“ Sweetie, a CV isn’t a CV
it’s a sales pitch
a teaser
a trailer,
show me the advertisement
and I’ll show them you’re what they want.
Don’t worry sweetie you’ve come to the right place
I used to work in HR
now I get to create the lies, not read them.”

Some Christian names once favoured by royals
never cross socio-economic equator
remaining in the northern hemisphere
William, Edward, Charlotte, Victoria.
Others, the blue-collar salt-and-pepper
Wayne, Steve, Sharon, Raylene leave
the basement rental.

Some jet set between
Tania –
Tania local hairstylist at the hardscrabble Suburban salon
or
Tania charge nurse in a private surgical hospital
tall and aloof
height useful for down looking.
Came to see me –
discuss matters recall can’t
just two of us in empty quiet room
as she talked
something irritated
low…
continued to
she dealt to it vigorously
sound was distinctive and audible
hair rustling against underwear.
I looked at her
she returned my look,
without a blink.

They didn’t tell me much at first
it took a while
but after a year they told me about my predecessor
I knew by then he had been popular
competent,
cheerful
and an incorrigible flirt.
Flirting:,
that was what I thought
had been led to believe
that’s were it began and ended they implied,
shrugging, a man surrounded by women – what do you expect?
Then
they told me about him and Kathryn
seemed very friendly .. perhaps too much
and maybe
but both seemed happily married so maybe not,
until,
the boss, a prime middle-class woman
of whom all claimed passion had passed by
received a phone call from Kathryn’s husband
“ your service manager is fucking my wife.”