Colin doesn't work here any more

By Morag Smith

I mean the cute one with grey eyes who
stacked the shelves on Saturday nights, always
knew the different kinds of face pack
and feminine hygiene products
I’d asked him to my big sister’s wedding;
guess he’d had enough of Health and Beauty

He was a customer merchandise supervisor
I loaned him an inspirational book
I’ll not get that back, will I? It’s really
quite upsetting, he could have let us know
somehow; I don’t suppose he even read
‘How To Stop Worrying And Start Living’

The lad’s alright, we used to chat a lot
about Lance Armstrong and the future of socialism
while he fetched me razors from the top shelf,
he had a brain and years ahead of him;
he’s thrown off the shackles of corporate slavery
and gone and joined the bloody revolution!

No goodbyes on the Facebook page
Instagram and Snapchat non-responsive
Best quality staff uniform discarded
Name badge cracked as his sense of duty
The old seven speed Raleigh Roadster
mysteriously missing from the garden shed
— Colin has left the building

Morag Smith is a European Scot, who lives in Paisley and has been published in a variety of magazines and anthologies.