I’m currently working on a poetry collection about women in the workplace, highlighting my experiences at a male-dominated marketing agency and beyond. This is one of the pieces from the book. I hope that the book makes its way into the world, and I hope future generations of women never have to endure the misogyny that those before them have encountered.
The woman behind me in the coffee line
says, “I can’t handle today. Normally,
I can handle his micromanaging bullshit,
but not today. Don’t get me wrong—I love
my job—but not today.” I turn to see
two tall black women with flawless skin
and meticulously painted red lips.
I feel that way every day, I say,
loud enough for them to hear,
quiet enough for nobody else to notice.
Her friend frowns in response.
She beams. “We should’ve been strippers,”
she says, tucking her wallet under her arm
looking up as if contemplating that path.
“Really, we should’ve been strippers.”
Now her friend is laughing. “No,”
her friend says. “No, that’s not our motto.
Don’t make that our motto.”
The barista calls me up. I order my coffee,
they order their coffee, we walk out
of the coffee shop going in opposite directions
heading exactly the same way.