During the interview
my mind was racing
to all four corners
of the boardroom,
if not the universe.
I thought of yes-
terday, how it stuck
in my mind like a bone
sitting horizontal half-
way down a throat
(mine). I thought of
tomorrow and the
next day and the
day after that, just
in case this was
a place I might
wind up spending
those days. Some-
where between
these thoughts of
future and past
was where I exited,
had existed, where
I currently sat; some-
where near the end
of a long table on the
side facing the window
with the beautiful view
of downtown and of
skyward and of (a few
short moments between
when the receptionist
graciously brought me
a pair of bottled waters
and the interviewers
arrived) way down to
the city’s tiny pedest-
rians. To its cabs and
honking SUVs. I’d be
introduced to the three
folks who would be at-
tending (whose names
I fail to remember in
this other present
moment). But one
of the attendees,
an “interviewer”
if you will, said right
at the beginning, as
she introduced her-
self, that she was
The Observer. “I’m
just here to observe,”
she said, and that
she did, having said
everything she’d say
during the amount of
time I was there, per-
haps 30 minutes,
haps a bit over an
hour, right at that mo-
ment. As always, it
was theatrical; a
farce. And now,
looking back, I
wonder if she under-
stood a thing I said.
