The world is too expensive and far.
Using false identities, I called companies to find employees who haven’t forgotten,
what a terrible life.
Once I had a prospect, I called as myself, read from a script,
“Hello, I’m a recruiter with Eagles International.
What if I told you I can put your career on a flight to Europe?”
My girlfriend believed in Adam and Eve. Daily, she’d plead for my soul.
Her eyes shone like big innocent suns, vaguely inspirational.
Once, she even blessed my phone—opening her pocket notebook of secret prayers.
Yet I felt unabsolved, a kind of corporate sorrow. Lying
made my teeth hurt
I was alone as the moon—
came home from work, dropped my shoes and groaned
because I was no one.
Chris Green is the author of two books of poetry: Epiphany School and The Sky Over Walgreens. His poetry has appeared in such journals as Poetry, Verse, Nimrod, RATTLE, and Black Clock. He recently edited the anthology, Brute Neighbors: Urban Nature Poetry, Prose & Photography. He teaches in the English Department at DePaul University.