March 17, 2005

Career Advice — 2nd draft

By Tony Brown

First change: the title.

WELCOME ABOARD

First things first:
this place is big, a brick
house with no funk.
Be prepared to get lost,
often for years at a time.

Next, code of conduct:

You would not believe how easy it is
to not speak to anyone here —
just let them talk
and they’ll barely notice you.

Stay one step ahead of the boss in terms
of your computer savvy
and you can play God
indefinitely.

Lunchtime: try a salad and an antipsychotic
chased with pure spring water. Save a
Diet Coke for later, when you will need
the caffeine to help scrape together a little attention.

The bar across from this building is another world.
You will need a special suit to breathe in its atmosphere.
The creatures there use camouflage and mimicry to stay alive.

Pay close attention to the grim men
you see haunting the conference rooms
after marketing meetings and training classes.
They live on leftover brownies and stalled ambitions.
They own the sports cars at the fringes of the parking lot,
far beyond the reserved row.
In other places, they would be called ghosts.
Do not let them touch you.

As for work itself?
No one you work for will ever return your love,
even if they say that they do.
Do not allow yourself to pretend they will,
even for a second.

They will only know you’re leaving
when you turn in your badge,
but if you work here long enough,
you won’t need the badge at all,
because everyone will know you.

Everyone already does know you, in fact;
we seem to remember you,
as if you’d worked here before,
so we already know everything we need to know
about you.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Now then:
I don’t really like this poem. It doesn’t do what I want it to. I was looking for something more direct. I frequently find that the second person approach helps me zero in on the actual poem.

Hence, another shot at the actual poem.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ghost Story

Grim men drift out of the building
at five o’clock after marketing meetings
and training classes.
They drive off in the sports cars they parked askew
at the fringes of the parking lot.
In other places, they would be called ghosts.

Pretty girls stride out to the lot at six o’clock
in ponchos and pointy shoes. Their SUVs and
Acuras leave the reserved rows and line up at the exit.
They will be the next ghosts.

I leave the building at seven o’clock, dragging my ass
to a used Accord, sleeping on my feet
before I’m even halfway there.
Someone called me
inconsistent today.
I am that. There are ghost days
and solid days, and I park wherever
I can get space.

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown
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