Inspiration from death of a colleague


Mickey Boreham

Across my glass window, days of

Hissing and thudding and pressing

Of the Industrious Rubber pass.

I am a quality spider,

Mending machines is Mickey’s job.

Ten times a day loudspeaker shouts:

“Mickey Boreham to the XYZ;”

No more.

Worked from 16 to 66,

And then retired, in sleep.

Memories galore:

Christmas turkeys distributing

(On behalf of the company),

Researching on my computer –

Equipment, old radio, grizzly, Boreham,

Under the machines,

Oil and dirt covered,

Floor scrubbers driving,

Quick pacing despite the knee…

And more:

In the dining room with Tims,

Mornings when I enter,

And greeting every time,

Were Lisa and Mick,

No more.

Late separation shocker –

Shocker to me ‘cause

The calls…

So caring were they!

And more:

Crisp voice and kid-laughs,

On the phone from here,

To buddies

Jokingly –

“Where the hell are you?”

Boss taunts –

“Are you still alive?”

O’ premonition –

Why did you bring up

These words so timely?

Born December 8th, 1947, Braintree Essex, England,

Untimely whisked into the good night-

In Winnipeg, Canada, June 29, 2015;

Fringe festival begins tomorrow,

New Horizons flyby Pluto,

Birds sing, lovers kiss

And the machines squeal:

Good enough reason to

Rage on against the dying light!


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