Job Centre Blues

[billy]

Job centre windows fascinate me as I wait to be called to a booth.
On metal springs they open just a small, measured distance.
I imagine they're so to prevent suicide, young mum leaping from the ledge
on hearing that her fortnight's dole won't cover a hair extension.
I work with what I'm given. In this case the job centre, (you were given the job centre? )
its mawkish photos of the middle-aged: a hennish woman,
big brown eyes, white teeth and dowdy hair, opposite a red-faced man,
who looks like he survived the movie Trainspotting. some good images. and i like the 1st person narration.

I suppose they symbolise those on the dole,
in a world where laziness was left behind by nature's scheme.
I should have brought a book along, I think as time wanders. is 'i think as time wanders needed? it feels redundant
Adjacent on a low table are engineering magazines, some politics
and articles which read to me like algebra. I'm sitting in a blue armchair,
down a short gray corridor, ended on either side by desks,
computers and telephones. I feel as though I'm in Yemen
(a place to which I've never been). I work with what I'm given. everything after telephones feels unnecessary ( the leap of why you would feel like you were in yemen is a big reach for me the reader to believe.

i do like your narratives jack specially the little details like how far windows open.
while the yemen part didn't do it for me, the rest did. i think you captured some good images. i think the title could be more subtle but thats just a nit. on the whole i thought it a solid write. jmo

thanks for the read.