There it is again,
that weird, translucent
awareness suddenly felt when
sitting directly opposite from someone
in a small, non-intimate room.
Business as usual,
attempting another interview
at some other office.
Same process, different desk.
This time my interviewer’s bald.
And he drolls on and on and on,
so much so he doesn’t realize I’m
writing this poem.
I stare at his naked, bald head
atop his fat goblin-like body.
Then I suddenly am aware
of how weird the universe is,
and the room seems to expand,
and my interviewer’s head seems to shrink
without growing smaller by definition.
Smaller... so small and cold, unnaturally small
atop beady eyes, skin the color of old money.
Sartre called it “the absurdity of the world.”
The nausea of unfounded awareness.
I bet he sat through countless interviews.
Wondering all the while why it is that
we are alive and do the things we do.
My bald-headed interviewer drolls on and on.
My actual interviewer is not at all the way I described him in this poem, I just thought it would be funny to write him the way I did.
...and he'll never know I did it either, which is beautiful