Picking Up a Job Application
A spring wind hustles hundreds of pages into the street,
discarded leaflets like pieces of a shredded textbook
under the feet of high school students let out for lunch.
A young woman bends and grasps a flier: sliver of promise,
passport to enter through the golden arches, gateway to the west,
up escalator to immediate opportunity, and prosperity
somewhere
higher, those sky-reaching towers across the river looking down
on her
and the crowd scrambling to buy a dollar- forty-nine-cent special
meal.
Required? Just the have-a-good-day sticker on her backpack,
the smiley face plastered over her eyes and nose and mouth every
day.
And one thing more, of course: Fill in application on the reverse--
English only please. She speaks Hindi, Arabic, Tagalog, Spanish,
Greek, half a dozen other tongues hide behind her smiles. The day
she says Hello to her first customer is the day she says Hello
to the other women behind the counter, who are talking, but not
smiling.



