Oswald swans into the office
decked in neon green propeller cap,
a yo-yo tucked in his palm
like an apple.
He makes a show of walking to his cubicle
on spring-stilts. He is unsteady on them;
by the time he reaches his chair, he is bloody
and shivering with pain.
He effects a cheerful smile through gasps,
as if these are the sort of zany capers
he undertakes every day,
as if this is no more unusual for him
than a 7 a.m. bowel movement,
than hot water and brisk jog for breakfast.
At 9:51 a.m. he sends a group email to everyone on the floor
with the subject line:
NOTICE ANYTHING 'DIFFERENT' ABOUT ME TODAY?
At 10:30 a.m. he is made redundant.
He clears his desk,
pedals home under a cloud.
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