I've known the pleasures of being <br />fired at least eleven times— <br /> <br />most notably by Larry who found my snood <br />unsuitable, another time by Jack, <br />whom I was sleeping with. Poor attitude, <br />tardiness, a contagious lack <br />of team spirit; I have been unmotivated <br /> <br />squirting perfume onto little cards, <br />while stocking salad bars, when stripping <br />covers from romance novels, their heroines <br />slaving on the chain gang of obsessive love— <br /> <br />and always the same hard candy <br />of shame dissolving in my throat; <br /> <br />handing in my apron, returning the cash- <br />register key. And yet, how fine it feels, <br />the perversity of freedom which never signs <br />a rent check or explains anything to one's family...<br /><br />Erin Belieu<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-on-being-fired-again/
