January 2008 / Volume Eight / Issue One
Wayne Mason
No Future

The supervisor
sits  behind his desk
with papers, post-its
and half drank coffee

He’s half hungover
looking bewildered
the scent of beer still
heavy on his breath

His tired eyes
seem to ask
What the hell
am I doing here?

Our glances meet
and he’s ready to
pass the torch

My future has never
been so clear
yet so very
very dark
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