The Question

 

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.

 

Comments

[Jessica Davis]

nice

[trainwatcher]

Your vision of "twenty years" from now didn't include being a puffy, sad man, but neither you nor I would have said "passed out on a bar stool," either. Although the reality of "twenty years from now" can bear little resemblance to our youthful dreams, somehow we endure the wrong turns and broken dreams and muddle through. Life goes on. Once in a great while, it even smiles on us.

Good stuff, Charlie.