Interview room

old-man-chair

 

Alone he sat, slumped in a chair,
Fading eyes and silver hair,
Invited no more to the boardroom table,
Lost his spark. Biodegradable.
 
An aspiring young graduate entered the room,
Her perfume stank of impending doom,
 “I bring you news that your tenure is ending,
Decision’s been made; no longer pending.
 
The World Wide Web; everything new,
No space around here for relics like you.
Emails and apps, folding screens;
You’ve been replaced by a laptop, it seems.”
 
He couldn’t believe he was valued so cheap;
To be dumped like trash, on the scrap-heap.
“I’ve been with this company, forty years
And during that time have shed many tears.”
 
“No good crying to me old man,
Just doing my job.  You’re formally canned!”

 

 

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