Contract
Clouds darken glass office towers,
the wind off the marina picks up,
seagulls flock inland,
the roads unusually congested.
A sprayed fly on the sill,
the technology consultant stays put.
When this job started, blizzards grounded planes;
now families spend Sundays at the beach.
Hotel cable news bores him to sleep;
at home she too works late,
watches favourite TV alone.
He dines with colleagues,
scans another fivestar menu,
life never before this meagre
© David Lumsden, 2008
This poem was published in Tirra Lirra Winter 2002 (Australia) and The Pikeville Review 2003 (U.S.A.)