Fire

Fire
by Mark Sargent
before you get up in the morning
you’re fired
even before morning, the graveyard
shifts beneath yr feet, nothing’s been dug for hours
and you’re fired
the ole pink slip showing
beneath a tattered frock
walking papers without shoes
shit-canned with no opener
fired
in an open forge, three wee folk jumping on the bellows
and the smith takes one look at yr weld and
you’re fired
grab yr shit and go
don’t come back
close the door on yr way out
fired
from a cannon towards a frayed net and the lion is loose
you stand before the time clock but your card isn’t there
and yr mouth is awful parched and yr co-workers are
giving you the look that whispers, ouch
or whew
fired
in the human kiln turned up to minor sun intensity
but glazed, yr eyes, three folks at home counting
on that pathetic paycheck
we don’t think you’re going to work out
we’re sorry
you’re done
redundant
sacked
finished
kaput
history without economics is bunk, sd Ez
and no doubt
you’re fired
that’s the story with an ending only
that’s the saga cut off at the knees
oh please won’t you reconsider
but no
go
gone
and that concrete ‘neath yr feet
is harder
than that bastard’s heart
and you don’t really
have anywhere to go