The Last Day

By Jim Hagarty

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.
Me at the doorway with my stuff.
My plan was to retire from here,
But it seemed you’d had enough.

The first few days were hard to take
The anger within was intense.
And the feeling of betrayal
By people who’d become my friends.

But it didn’t take me all that long
To realize that this was good.
I should have left there long ago
But fear made sure I never would.

And now I’m grateful for that day
Because it freed me from my desk.
Each day is an adventure now.
What pathway will I explore next?

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.