The job market is a very odd place. Well, not so much odd as awful. I thought everything would change after I obtained my degree. It hasn’t really. There aren’t very many opportunities for some with a 2:2 in the Humanities. Graduate schemes want a 2:1 and seemingly no-one wants a poet. Or at least, no-one wants a poet who can’t write poetry. The only graduate jobs there seem to be are entry level recruitment consultant. I didn’t spend 3 years and thousands of pounds pontificating enjambment to do that!
Ah well, I start a new job on Monday. That’s something at least.
Here is a poem.
The room sat squat in
the far corner of the house, not unused,
The yellow wallpaper
long stained a deeper yellow
through nights of tension.
Charms that danced from the ceiling
and shelves that once cast
sparkling shadows now
slung turgid by the
The moonlight shone through a gap
in the curtains where it had come loose
from the rail,
illuminating dust particles spat into
the air and a fresh finger mark
cut through the dirt on
a now abandoned baby blue crib.
In the room below,
an infomercial ran for its
ninth iteration, selling its wares
to the empty whiskey bottle
under the unpolished oak table.