Unemployed at 50
Force-fuel caffeine sip by pseudo-sip,
then sit under air-conditioned plants
that flap firm thermoplastic leaves
beneath full-spectrum light. Source unknown.
Never was that green. Not once. Not ever.
Sweaty palms translate the resume
from quaint dot matrixed irony
into something suspiciously Cyrillic.
Ink bleeds a thumbprint that won’t commit
while this world can’t help but swirl.
20-somethings whiz by, indifferent.
20-something thoughts inside my head.
Even the wall clock reads 20 after…
But after what? The hour hides.
A second hand sweeps by.
Why be here, here being
perched on a loveseat sofa
made of poromeric leather,
said sofa facing two glass doors
that open onto nothing really.
In time, doors will open. A redhead
straight from the box with nails
laminated jade will beckon
a silent gesture that informs:
It’s time to begin. It’s time to go in.
Drew Pisarra worked in the digital sphere on behalf of Mad Men, Rectify, and Breaking Bad but now writes plays, fiction, and poetry. His work has been produced off-Broadway and appeared in Poydras Review, Thin Air, and St. Petersburg Review among other publications. His collection of short stories, Publick Spanking, was published by Future Tense.