Susan Kolon

Scenes from a Career

Part 2

Stroke of genius 

Post-conference I swallow all but whole, a hamburger 
placed on a tray backstage six hours prior, set aside 
for presenters like me who use their mouth pieces 
to generate sales. Legs vibrating behind a lectern 
of outspread acclaim, I take leave like an intent 
cat burglar sensing daybreak. Hands full, I kick 
my coat down the aisle of the plane, I can’t carry 
six-hundred clapping hands on six hundred 
stomping feet, my Cole Haan heels still unsteady, 
too heavy to welcome the lights guiding me to an exit.

Occupational hazard 

Hiding in the handicap stall 
of the ladies’ room, dangling by 
a thread, I sew a button back onto 
my boss’s suit jacket. He will strut, 
cocksure, on his way to the boy’s club, favored 
in a coat of veneer, cloaking tyranny for
talent. Buried in the spoils of cronyism, I backstitch 
that bitch and my thorn-pierced finger 
spools red. ‘Karoshi’ is a Japanese term for 
dying at work, what is it for an adorned doll? 
In an inside pocket, mistaken for a sponge, I stick 
the needle, pinning a seam of complaisance 
to my unraveling.

Unfair working conditions

Vitals of the male head critical 
but stable, people being shitty
people even so. Fleeting glimpses 
of shoutouts long forgotten by 
blowouts. Workloads too loaded –
too tanked – for the brain to redact.
The cost of doing business.