Gazette 99, The End

The End

Hands of the old wall clock showed only minutes left before the hour

when he’d hear again its so familiar chime.

Yet he simply sat there motionless

so many thoughts criss-crossing through his head

as they jostled for a space within his mind.
He noticed little things that he’d looked at so many times

yet somehow they’d not registered before;

framed certificates hanging neatly lined along one wall

trophies of effort and accomplishment.

Worn buttons on the desk phone bore witness to its      use

where his fingers touched - how many thousand      times?

Coffee cup rings staining a corner of his desk and

overlapping into a shapeless faded blob.

Varnish worn through to bare timber

along the desk edge where his belly rubbed.

Suddenly, chimes from the clock re-focused him,

but only briefly, and he rose

to move robotically through the motions of closing up again.

But this time reluctantly -

a deep down sense of loss seeping through him,

and yes, a hint of pain

Last night the party had been great

with family and workmates all around, in festive mood

as the room filled with laughter.

But that was yesterday and now long gone.

The metallic clack of the door latch as it closed behind him

pierced like a bullet through his chest.

Then he stepped wearily into the evening

from his final day at work.

Tomorrow?... tomorrow the unknown world of

retirement awaited him.

© Pete Stratford. 10.4.12