I feel like I am about to die
People I work with trickle by me wishing me well
And then talk about me in the past
As if to pay their last respects prior to my final days with
Mother Company
Or avoiding me altogether
Or appearing distracted whenever they talk to me
Or appearing distant and almost impatient for me to leave
So that even before my seat is cold, or my equipment cold
They are dividing these up, casting lots, for the prizes I leave behind
Or replacing me as partner with new, closer partners
Life goes on, you know
And the day before I leave
They insist on paying tribute, hold a wake
And try to say nice things while glancing at their watches
Shifting their weight
Only one has the sense of duty, or is it friendship?
To hold vigil with me until my moment of departure
And then turns back to her grind
Eager to move forward adn not look back, at least not for a while
And when I'm finally gone I fear
It will feel like I am dead, by myself
Having crossed-over to a greener pasture