Entry Level

He’s a Vice President now,

the man who watched me

sweat through my brother’s blazer.

He asked me where I saw myself

in ten years, and my voice

snapped like a dry twig.

I drank from a paper cup

that tasted like the wax at the bottom.

I left a pink smudge on the rim

and he stared at it

like it was a bloodstain.

I didn't get the call.

I didn't even get the decade.