First day at school, first day at work, both were unnerving experiences, both were so very long ago.
FIRST DAY
That first day, in a new-bought suit, afraid
to speak up for myself, I sat, with pen
and pencil that I’d sharpened with a blade,
in a large office with a group of men.
Next door there was a busy typing pool
of women. This was different from school.
At work that day, a green, self-conscious lad,
I joined a world of grown-ups. It felt strange
to mix with men the same age as my dad,
and be, myself, a grown-up for a change.
At sixteen, I thought I’d be there for life,
rise through the ranks, earn money, get a wife.
In fact, things turned out otherwise, of course:
I grew up fast, changed jobs, acquired a spouse,
a car, a mortgage, offspring, then divorce
and, through the years, I moved from house to house
and job to job, from pen to keyboard, till
at sixty-three I’d really had my fill.
Back in that lofty office, long ago:
who was I, the glum youngster, just sixteen,
that listened as the jokes flew to and fro
and felt somehow excluded from the scene?
I recognise that lad out on a limb
and feel a certain tenderness for him.
For verse of a different kind, why not visit: https://www.facebook.com/richard.fleming.92102564/
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