i got laid off weeks ago and never
dreamed it would be this difficult to find
a new job. the lights are low and the house
is cold. an unfamiliar rumbling
is coming from my stomach.
my résumé lies on its sans-serif
surface. is this all there is? the question
in the faces of human resources
managers who read my thinly-written
claims to general expertise, shabby
as ostrich plumes eaten away by
avian lice, revealing the flabby
body of an inexpensive fan-dancer
with a cellulite problem, who prances
onstage amid catcalls and dreams.
who pretends not to notice. who takes an
overripe tomato smack in the forehead,
but never loses her poise or her shit-eating
grin, and almost never misses a step.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)