Elegy for Jeff

I'm already forgetting about you.
This ceaseless move-ahead is making
it hard to fathom or focus on the
reality of you no longer being here.

Not dead, but excommunicated
from my life just as surely.
Barely had time to pack your things
before they shut off the spigots:

e-mail, done. Company phone,
we'll take that back. Did they
even give you a chance
to let your former clients

and industry friends
know about your new condition?
One that is not fatal if caught,
but the dreams are dead, anyway.

You've been here since the '70s.
Worked with me for nearly a decade.
The next manager in line better
prepare to have her neck slashed

by the next manager in line after.
I will be trained via e-mail
with the newest protocols
to sop up the gore.

I take that back. I can't forget.
Always concluding your thoughts
with a "And that's the story."
I thought it was a tic.

"And that's the story."
Not the final thought.
Not your final story.
But mine knowing you.

We are all very excited to be here

He shaved off about 40 years of his life
at the company, until he was told
to stop.

Packing up his corner office,
he had assumed his job was
a never-ending track that aligned him,
like a model earth facing a model sun,
stars and systems at his back.

But his career was not a perfect coil;
it was a spike. Now the calendar
is as bland and open as his waiting,
and the wall.