Poem

I read through “A Working Girl Can’t Win” by Deborah Garrison last night, a book of poetry that I absolutely adore. It’s gritty and harsh, but also beautiful and soft at times. I think I will just type out one of the poems that seems appropriate for the end of a winter work week. I dedicate it to T, my working-girl friend (at least the first part she will appreciate 🙂

FIGHT SONG

Sometimes you have to say it:
Fuck them all.

Yes fuck them all –
the artsy posers,
the office blowhards
and brown-nosers;

Fuck the type who gets the job done
and the type who stands on principle;
the down-to-earth and understated;
the overhyped and underrated;

Project director?
Get a bullshit detector.

Client’s mum?
Up your bum.

You can’t be nice to everyone.

When your back is to the wall
When they don’t return your call
When you’re sick of saving face
When you’re screwed in any case

Fuck culture scanners, contest winners,
subtle thinkers and the hacks who offend them;
people who give catered dinners
and (saddest of sinners) the sheep who attend them –

which is to say fuck yourself
and the person you were: polite and mature,
a trooper for good. The beauty is
they’ll soon forget you

and if they don’t
they probably should.