As a young man I interviewed
for dozens of jobs: parking lot attendant,
stock clerk, salesman, janitor.
Almost without fail, the boss
was a puffy, sad, middle-aged man
who looked as if he lived on Baco's and coffee,
and ironed his shirts in his car.
And nearly as often, that sad puffy man
would ask, "So kid, where do you see yourself
in 20 years?"
I never knew what to say.
Instead I'd picture him as a young man
in my seat. I'm sure he'd never have said
he wanted to be here.
Once, I stood up and said,
"We both know I wouldn't last here," and left.
That may have been the only right answer.