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Louis MacNeice - The Suicide
Work rating: Low

And this, ladies and gentlemen, whom I am not in fact
 Conducting, was his office all those minutes ago,
 This man you never heard of. These are the bills
 In the intray, the ash in the ashtray, the grey memoranda stacked
 Against him, the serried ranks of the box-files, the packed
 Jury of his unanswered correspondence
 Nodding under the paperweight in the breeze
 From the window by which he left; and here is the cracked
 Receiver that never got mended and here is the jotter
 With his last doodle which might be his own digestive tract
 Ulcer and all or might be the flowery maze
 Through which he had wandered deliciously till he stumbled
 Suddenly finally conscious of all he lacked
 On a manhole under the hollyhocks. The pencil
 Point had obviously broken, yet, when he left this room
 By catdrop sleight-of-foot or simple vanishing act,
 To those who knew him for all that mess in the street
 This man with the shy smile has left behind
 Something that was intact.
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