The Ghosted
He sees the writing on the wall,
unaddressed unsigned.
Confirmed by aching silence
and the weary march of time.
He looks for hope between the lines,
but there's nothing there to find.
The gist seems really clear enough,
even for the blind.
You've been dismissed, it says,
not looking at his eyes.
Pack all the things away,
return what isn't yours.
It's time to pick that suitcase up,
there's no-one here to ask "what for?"
Return the key and say goodbye.
Behind you, close the door
The child within sits quivering-chin,
his punishment a puzzle.
What did he do, what did he say?
Was there something he forgot?
He hoped his best was good enough,
but now he sees it's not.
Perhaps he's just unworthy
and this is just his lot
That wall is cracked, he says,
the light is getting in.
It'll need a bit of patching
and another coat of paint.
We'll choose a cheerful colour
and maybe paint a smiley face.
I'll buy the child a donut
and take him on a ride
Stay busy, that's the trick.
There are things it's best to hide,
seems no-one wants to know you
once you show them what's inside.
May 2022
