From a Sales Conference in Indianapolis

Some suited stooge at the front of the room
Is nattering on in business school dialect.
Cliches aside, he has nothing to say. I look
Down at my plate. I have half of a bagel,
A couple of cubes of honeydew melon,
Which looked very nice on their stainless
Steel platter, but turned out not to have
Had any taste. Most of those seated around
Me are me: middle-aged drones who are
Fighting off torpor, fidgeting, quietly checking
Their messages, hoping for signs that
Somebody actually sees some advantage
To feeding them bagels, flying them here
From wherever they were. Down the row
To the left, I see legs without pants. I lean
Forward. I look at a woman, who's doing
Her best to pretend that she's listening.
Dark suit and white shirt, business-like,
Boring; a beaded necklace, a little watch,
Black-framed glasses, and muted, red
Lipstick; she's not much to want, but,
Beneath all the trappings of corporate
Probity, maybe she's sexy. Maybe she
Snorts when she laughs, and she's partial
To off-colored jokes. Maybe, if she'd
Meet my eyes, she'd agree to slip out
Of these prisons, the building, this
Speech, this ridiculous, mind-numbing
Mode of existence, her clothes, and we'd
Teach ourselves how to be happy. Maybe.
Not now. The stooge is done. She and I
And the others applaud.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 57 times
Written on 2010-07-08 at 16:36

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