Entry Level

Entry Level
Frederick Pollack

It comes down to someone
claiming her cubicle
excessively; realizing
swiftly, from the slightest signs,
she must at least remove
two photos, one plant;
and doing so, worrying
she is already marked.
It comes down to seeing,
but not seen to be seeing,
youth-hate, age-regret
in a supervisor, and working
around her, subtly,
yet visibly to the nearest
corner office. The boys
in her bullpen are boys,
who must be discouraged
and flattered. A man
walks importantly around;
he would like to be seen
as a dog among dogs,
but is really the cat
father who eats
the litter. Her interface,
body and clothes,
always a battlefield
and factory, now
regear for total war.
It comes down to eating
the gay roommate’s cooking,
then rowing all night
towards safety in dreams
the size of a rowboat.
It always comes down to being good.

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