Ig Quits

Iggy worked as a janitor
at the Arable Research Centre.
He cycled, whistling, past fields
bristling with golden GM ears.
Dan, the big security man, called him
Ig. 'Hey Ig,' swipe clunk
and in.

Iggy ate sandwiches in the sun -
egg and cress. At home, he'd boil
six eggs, behead the cress.
Five sandwiches, wrapped in cellophane
then fridged.
Monday through to Friday.
He wrote labels in red felt-tip.

The wheat lay flat
in five concentric circles
round the spot they found his shoes,
a scarf, a candle stump and
crumpled note, in red, that read:
'I quit,
love Ig.
PS - if anyone likes egg and cress,
Thurs and Fri should still be good.'