This poem was created from a conversation I had with my neighbor, Mary, who worked as a lawyer, hated it and became an artist instead. She also teaches painting. We got talking about how people respond to what you say you do, or where you study, etc.
So…what do you do?
The conversation opens with
“So…what do you do?” and screeches
to a premature halt if the reply is,
I’m a lawyer, or I go to school in Boston.
(Everyone know that means you go
to Harvard), she assured me.
They treat you as if you have leprosy,
are too brilliant for their ilk,
born with a silver spoon in your mouth,
are immoral or all of the above.
Most importantly, they back away from
what had promised to be a fun repartee.
“It’s different”, she said,
a slightly perplexed look on her
face, pausing and looking at me
to see if I would really understand,
“and it’s not good” she finished.
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1 comment:
Personally, I just hate the question. It's a very american phenomenon. For example, I know of a woman who lived in France and didn't know what her neighbor did as a a career for two years, yet they chatted all the time... about food, politics, hobbies - in some sense, more defining aspects of a person.
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