Prelude

A locking up, that is my take home
from the prelude of last night’s dream:

I was in a workplace, which I walked through
in my dressing gown, obviously, and, suddenly,

each terminal was beyond my ability to use,
each terminal then being already used,

no seat, no desk, an anticipation
of my future, my redundancy.

They found me, in that dream, hobbling,
and returned me intact, assurances that

I was welcome back.

As long as I am wanted, for what I can,
not given space, because of what I can’t.

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