She only stops looking for a new job
because she has to drive
one of her boss’ girlfriends to the airport.

He goes through the girls
like a drunk goes through the songs
that really speak to them.

This is the tenth one
she’s had to get rid of in just under a year.

They drive,
and she listens to her going on and on.
It’s some inane chatter about the way
art galleries are better when you spend
all day in one and then step outside
to find that it’s raining cats and bloodthirsty dogs.

It’s definitely one
of the stupider things she’s ever heard,
and this latest love interest
is definitely near the top of the dumbass list.

She drives and goes back to her job search.
There doesn’t seem to be any work out there
past this small town near Philadelphia
where things are consistently as good
as they’re ever going to get.

Five years of college,
ten years off her life for good behavior
and two quietly disappointed parents
should have yielded some luck she could actually use.

Instead of some stories
about what happened in California and Virginia.
Not to mention that feeble joke about five years
for a degree in underwater basket weaving.

Nineteen years old
and everything was coming right up,
but at twenty-six it’s time to wonder
if she might have been wrong at some point.

She knows it doesn’t really matter if she was.
It’s a little late to pretend the last ten years
were just a period of feeling things out.

The boss’ girlfriend is still talking away.
Her hands are resting on her perfect legs
Her breasts are ridiculously content
with the way the world seems to work.

She listens and thinks that it probably
wouldn’t be fair to anyone
if she were to suddenly steer the car off a bridge.

It’s an hour to the airport,
and she lets herself wonder
if she really is a loser.

She then tries to change to subject
to wishing she wasn’t allergic to cats.

They drive on,
and the traffic is pretty reliable.

No surprises in any possible direction.

01/30/2010

Posted on 01/30/2010
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