Redundant At Forty-Five Poem by Shaun William Hayes

He sat at his desk, his hole in the wall
His world from nine until five
In his hand was a note, you're redundant they wrote
With regrets - so sorry - they lied

He'd never thought of it as a job for life
A career or such as that
I can take it or leave it he'd said more than once
But the truth was he couldn't, in fact

If he'd arranged himself to move on elsewhere
He'd have taken it all in his stride
But all he felt now was frustration and gloom
To be redundant at forty-five

All too soon came the day and for the last time
He picked up his briefcase and coat
And he carried the clock that his workmates had got
With best wishes, good luck they had wrote

He joined the mad rush like Ants when disturbed
To catch the first train as of old
To his wife home and kids but the gnawing thing was
Of his job they had yet to be told

She waited as usual for him to come home
So she could get on with the dinner
But tonight he was late and she was anxious, you see
She'd noticed he'd got a lot thinner

A little later that night a knock came to the door
And there stood a policeman in blue
Your Husband is dead, knocked down by a train
The five-thirty from Waterloo.