From On Being Fired Again

I've known the pleasures of being
fired at least eleven times—

most notably by Larry who found my snood
unsuitable, another time by Jack,
whom I was sleeping with. Poor attitude,
tardiness, a contagious lack
of team spirit; I have been unmotivated

squirting perfume onto little cards,
while stocking salad bars, when stripping
covers from romance novels, their heroines
slaving on the chain gang of obsessive love—

and always the same hard candy
of shame dissolving in my throat;

handing in my apron, returning the cash-
register key. And yet, how fine it feels,
the perversity of freedom which never signs
a rent check or explains anything to one's family...

by Erin Belieu

Comments (19)

Lovely poem, I can easily identify myself with it, Thanks for sharing it.Congrats on being poet of the day! But your poem, All Distance, can't be found.
The perversity of freedom which never signs. Nicely written. Sylva-Onyema Uba
I love your simplicity within this poem. Thanks for sharing
Its resonance is free from all perversity.
I enjoyed the quip and skill in portaying the mood of one who reads it.
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