most probably

 

all of us

whoever we are

are just sitting there

in the jobcentre

waiting

with this one light

flickering,

this one long rectangle light

blinking,

buzzing

like an injured wasp

having death throe

after death throe:

buzz buzz buzz

blink blink blink

for half an hour … an hour and a half … two hours and five minutes:

buzz buzz buzz

blink blink blink

 

until

finally this big dude says JESUS CHRIST and he gets up, stands on his chair

and punches up at it –

the dimpled rectangular casing clattered over his shoulder and onto the floor

and then, right, he wrenches the bulb out of the ceiling,

and it’s hot so he runs over to the doors hissing SHIT, SHIT, SHIT

and flings it outside – we hear it smash on the steps

and then he stands there

waving his red hand

as he looks around at us all,

says sorry, but that was getting me on tits

 

and you know what the staff did? nothing.

in fact:

thank god, one of the girls at the desks whispered to another.

that was getting on my tits and all, that was, she said

as her colleague nodded,

eyeing the big dude

up and down.

even the security guard just shook his head

and smiled patiently.

well, he was a foot shorter than him.

 

that big dude,

he will probably get a job changing jobcentre light bulbs,

they’ll hand him some title

like “council light distributor apprentice”

or something

 

and he’ll be changing the buzzing bulbs

above your head

for years to come.