Written by Inchcock
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Friday, 7 January 2011

image for 63 Year Olds Redundancy Sufferers Ode Ode from one of the unwanted

When the rumours first start, the idea of redundancy is an aggravation,

Once confirmed, those chosen begin to suffer workplace social segregation,

Slowly unavoidably affected by low esteem and cruel self-depreciation,

A half hearted look at the job situation brings great perturbation,

When you increase your efforts, and try to avoid reprobation,

To the job searching you give your best dedication.

Soon you realise your plight is considered just floccinaucinihilipilification,

To the civil servants who consider you in need of investigation,

As they set about your person with verbal vilification,

Your belittlement, ridicule, vilification, and evaluation,

All part of your personal lowering and denigration.

You sign this, swear that, promise with each declaration,

You search the job sites, papers, and jobcentre, with dedication,

You call at places to ask for a job, get refused without hesitation,

You make your CV to be of multiple career related duplication,

Each tweaked, to suit the appropriate jobs with your qualification.

After a while, you feel that your job hunt orchestration,

Is failing to get you acknowledged, replied to, or any ovation,

Despite your early hopeful state of high expectation,

You find it is now one of sad negation,

Your dedication begins to suffer strangulation.

The money wanes, as does others respect of your situation,

The cable TV goes, as your money suffers mutilation,

The car might be next, then no transportation?

So now your hopes of employment then has a greater limitation,

Your tinned food stocks dwindle, you think of self preservation.

The fifth week, and your morale suffers a new redirection,

Down, lower, lesser, disgrace, utter complete humiliation,

Realising you feel such indignity brings a feeling of mortification,

Cheap tins of sausage, the cheapest bread, brings little jollification,

You find eating less brings an assortment of infection.

Thus a spotty face, wind, indigestion, and the odd palpitation,

Then you have the sudden unwanted realisation,

You are suffering from a chronic social deprivation,

Worrying, fretting, the constant demand for your personal information,

So low now, you have little if any future expectation.

You wish you could go into hibernation,

You feel you have no hopes, that's no oversimplification,

You pray for some hope of reinvigoration,

And hope your hopes do not suffer complete exsiccation,

You think perhaps in a moment of exacerbation,

You consider self suffocation,

Only as a very brief notation,

A feeling of shame, and mortally wounded pride and mortification,

You realise you have suffered a mutation,

From a lover of self education,

Into a poor tormented soul of self reprobation.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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