you're no longer employed here

it was the last day on the job
after
the bull
woman from the main office
came down
to hand out walking papers
to a few of
us less than productive
souls.
we deserved it.
we welcomed it. the job was little
more than
shoveling coal, in the form
of raw data
collected on a tape
to be printed in legible form.
i yawn just writing about it.
i remember staring out the window
at the lawn workers,
the delivery trucks,
the painters and road
men and thinking how lucky
they were.

there were goodbyes
to say.
farewells, hugs and kisses,
but sadly
no cake. just things to say,
like call me.
let's still meet for lunch
or dinner.
or happy hour.
same time same place.
and as Barney, the old security guard,
with his black
toy gun
walked me to the door, i
carefully hid the stapler
i had stolen,
and one more thing,
something  from the counter,
a warm
and iced
sweet cinnamon bun.

a little something for
the ride home.