another year, just one more

you

know

when it's time to quit.

but you don't.

the job

no longer means

what it used to mean.

it's thinned down

to a weak broth.

your

age is holding you

back.

the stairs

you climb, your

lack

of remembering

what to do.

but they keep you on

for who you were,

the rain man, the glue.

you no longer hear

the whispers.

they keep you

at your desk

in your old grey suit.

they're leaving

the departure

up to you.