On the next page the ink turns green
Fresh shoots, new hope, all that palaver
You examine the manuscript under a loop of magnified manifold
You process pleasure in Powerpoint bullets
Tarnish templates with monotype ghosting
It’s all done with robots now but you like to muck in
No parchment too precious for fingers to wander
You meter their words, box in statements of intent.
There is such a thing as perfect length or outstaying welcomes
There is no such thing as the perfect applicant.
The next time you pin out your life on paper
in butterfly sprawl – for all to finger and paw…
tread cautiously upon the buzzwords,
prepare courteously for the skewer.
Next time they ignore or reject you,
call you Mr. Annie if they remember your name,
when they boast of hundreds of outstanding applications…
feel the low tide of stand-in, a has-been, intently dim.
Next time they invite you to look in their eyes,
bring out the weapons, the fake and the true.
Though barbs pierce you dearly and scar tissues tighten
to scour your heart, build up bile, rot and decay.
Though you long to cauterise wounds in sheer lava,
As layer by layer they strip you of pride, esteem and hope.
Next time…
Curse them softly.
But don’t melt to brine.
Don’t let them define you.
Don’t you dare fall pigeon
into their hole.
Join me at the Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub to enjoy many fine poems and some delicious company.
