I had a job
My very own jobby
Every day
regular as clocks
I would leave
where I was
and go
do my jobby

Proud
of my jobbishness
My job
it defined me
made me worthy
Me
The archetypal
Jobs-worth

Then someone
decided
my job
My own little jobby
could be better
done
by some guy
on some
sweat-shop diet

The land of the free
they said
as my jobby
floated across
oceans
Tiny Mars-bar
export
A floater
if I ever saw one

I’d done
my jobby
with pride
and fulfillment
but now
the mess
covered
someone else’s
rear-end

Me
left stewing
in faded
scent
Watching flies
circle space
where my jobby
once brought
sustenance
and comfort

[From Alan’s prompt: ‘Jobby’]