The Applicant

In my recent move to Tyler, Texas I have found myself thinking about my past a lot. My poems have all been reflective pieces that look back.

The air conditioning in my car isn't working, which limits me to my feet, and my feet are mostly swollen. There also aren't many places to walk in the vicinity. My present is at stand still. And I've been experiencing what feels like ennui.

So, I've been applying to jobs. Any job. Recently I applied to The Bank of America for a bank teller position and I failed the personality section of the application. I drank a Rum & Coke to quell my rejected state. I wanted to smile politely and tell people to "have a nice life." (Some of my favorite Ben Folds lyrics.) I want a sense of placement.

In response to my complaint to the world, via facebook, my MFA mentor, Sheryl St. Germain, reminded me of Sylvia Plath's poem, "The Applicant." Listening to Plath's repetition of "will you marry it?" reminds me what it's like to be in customer service. In this search for a job and for placement I've forgotten how important it is to look at the present moment for poems. Rejection can be a good reminder of many things. (Thanks Sheryl. Thanks Sylvia.)