by Elisabeth Long

Created on: January 19, 2010

The Interview

Pressed tense, you smell professional

ignoring fish that kiss

in the filtered hum and gurgle

of the tank behind you

under the portrait of someone dear.

Your ring slips silver and easy, off and on, over and over

as you wet those lips merely to whisper

the plan, how I'd be employed.

Your eyes shift

to a level lower than mine framed by chronicles

by mounds

of paper

by the unclothed goddess

ancient architecture and your credentials climbing the wall.

Gifted with vast organ-izational skills

you calculate

benefits and earning potential.

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