Posted in Passages

Behind Closed Doors

The first time – the only time
just this once
the other side,
facing the interviewee – on the panel.
A panel of three –
expert witness – choosing my successor.

Had I ever been so eager, so hopeful,
memory couldn’t remember,
imagination couldn’t imagine.

by then an inside trader
I knew what wasn’t printed –
what the job holder finds out for themselves.

One hour per interview, 30 – 40 minutes of Q& A
15 – 20 minutes of discussion between the triangle.
all polished, best behaved and really want this opportunity
one especially – more than keen : desperate –
mid 90s employment security diminishing
crumbling public healthcare, private hospital – a good bet.
The other two, former nurses in their mid 40s, have been here
22 years and 17 years
steady promotion, one location,
mock and ridicule her desperation.

The ridiculed woman, also mid-40s –
recently separated with two children
was desperate –
desperately seeking job security
they didn’t get it,
didn’t understand job insecurity, or interview anxiety
it was too long ago.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.