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Work

 I caught rumours of some internal hearing
then you appeared with tears squeezing your eyes,
hands scrunched up like a child's, rice paper skin.
That work mates complained was a big surprise as you were office sunshine, shafted no-one, and turned your quick mind to the broadest cause.
But there you were, a whisper finished…gone, scooping reams of data from cabinet drawers, your kiddie snaps stacked face-down on the desk and none of us sat safe enough to speak.
That night I helped a cleaner bin the mess.
Our chief would hire a temp inside the week so I kept back your tissues as a wee bequest.
Sometimes I think I should have wiped your cheek.

by Chris Jones
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