The day that I quit my job, was the same as any other,
Except, that I quit my job; right there and then.
It was inevitable to be honest; it was bound to happen.
I rehearsed what I was going to say, carrying my bags home;
I recorded my voice, muddled like a bumbling reporter,
Sweating from the deceitfully warm day, that fooled everyone.
Before this, I searched for an Uber and entered the car;
The man seemed nice, and asked me about my day;
Giving the gist, he told me about his life and his divorce—
After 12 years, she had changed— she had betrayed me...
He turned: As long as you have your job and health, you’re good.
I said I might not have a job— Well, as long as you have your health.
I walked to Neasden station for the second time that day
Catching the Jubilee, Central Line, walking to the shop.
I showed him my book; he flicked through and gave it back.
We tend to stick with what works for the shop, he said to me.
I asked him for some advice— he pondered, and then shrugged.
I walked 1.8 miles down the towpath— gazing at the blueish canal;
I bought a Heineken, Maltesers, two double cheeseburgers and a Chicken Mayo.