Caprice

I sat only two tables off from the one I was sacked at,

                 Just three years ago,

And here was another meringue like the one which I hacked at

                 When pride was brought low

And the coffee arrived—the place which she had to use tact at

                 For striking the blow.

“I’m making some changes next week in the organisation

                 And though I admire

Your work for me, John, yet the need to increase circulation

                 Means you must retire:

An outlook more global than yours is the qualification

                 I really require.”

Oh sickness of sudden betrayal! Oh purblind Creator!

                 Oh friendship denied!

I stood on the pavement and wondered which loss was the greater—

                 The cash or the pride.

Explanations to make to subordinates, bills to pay later

                 Churned up my inside.

I fell on my feet. But what of those others, worse treated,

                 Your memory’s ghosts,

In gloomy bed-sitters in Fulham, ill-fed and unheated,

                 Applying for posts?

Do they haunt their successors and you as you sit here repleted

                 With entrées and roasts?