Got Milk Money?

As a recently returning guest to the 9-to-5 jamboree, I've found myself still basking in the joy of a steady--albeit modest--monthly paycheck. Behold my poetic despair from just this summer:

Unemployment
Oh, the deafening silence of the empty inbox.
I make homemade granola bars at three.
Like a hunter, I click
on Apply Now! and wait
for an acknowledgment of love:
you, yes you, glorious you, come here, you.
My Hollywood pitch:
Groundhog-Day-meets-Chorus-Line,
with Please god I need this job.
Please god I need this job.
Please god.
But no, you sirs and madams, you
bottomlined twats, you continue to suck
my heart dry, laid bare in Portable Document Format
looking forward, as it always does,
to speaking with you soon.
I check and I check again on
nothing. Please somebody love me
with wild abandon. Yours sincerely,
MLJ


Ah, poetry. So now, with job in hand, I feel as lucky as a duck--maybe even luckier. As one of my friends put it, I got the last paid gig in California. There was a time not so long ago when I would have wanted a job that would have given my alma mater a reason to request me as their graduation speaker. But I'm older now. Wiser. Satisfied with my anonymity, my 2-buck Chuck, and my rental apartment. I do yoga now. Thank you, Effed Economy, for this odd feeling called gratitude.