Poem: A Mary Sue Fantasy
Feb. 28th, 2010 05:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kleenexwomantitle: a mary sue fantasy i have had about "the man from uncle" when i am nervous about getting or keeping a job
genre: freeform poem
explanation: I was reading some Tao Lin poems, and I was impressed by the aesthetic of writing about incredibly mundane things that other poets would either ignore or glorify. So I decided to poeticize the most mundane fantasy I have ever had.
a mary sue fantasy i have had about "the man from uncle" when i am nervous about getting or keeping a job
i have moved to the big apple from someplace small
where people breathe down your neck. idaho or appalachia.
i am intelligent and quiet, easygoing but stubborn.
i get a job
as a secretary for uncle
i like the idea that i am doing something good for the world
i don't like having to wear high heels. but you do
what you have to.
apparently the first thing that happens when you are hired
after the facility tour and after you get your key to the restroom
is napoleon solo asks you out to dinner
as a sort of welcoming party of two.
oh, i say, i can't, i'm busy
but thank you. it's so nice
people are unexpectedly nice
in the big city.
he's persistent and i'm stubborn
and after a while the other typing pool girls
are starting to wonder. most of the women
who turn him down are, you know,
out of his league or married
or something.
(i forgot to mention: i'm reasonably cute
not exactly dumpy, not a bombshell
i wear my hair short)
and i'm stubborn but i'm not that stubborn.
friday night.
i ask him to pick me up at my apartment
if we're going to do this
i'm powdering my nose or whatever girls do before a date
when he comes by. so he's met at the door
by, oh,
sometimes she's named tina and she's a roller derby girl and blonde
sometimes she's named betty and she works in a factory and she's brunette
at any rate she's always very protective and a little territorial
listen, she says,
if you're here to pick up my girl
you can forget it, buddy
nobody kisses those ruby lips
nobody lays a hand on those bazooms
except me
(there's a reason i moved to the city)
it's alright, i say
he's a friend. from work.
right?
tina, betty, please don't punch him.
later, over wine,
i say,
please don't tell anyone
this is a good job
i'd hate to lose it
(i'd hate to have to tell everyone
that i saw you and that quiet blonde russian fellow
making out in an empty office
i was behind the file cabinet
for reasons entirely related to my job.)
after a few months of typing it becomes clear
my strength is in research. i can ferret out
small facts that make all the difference
and i am very happy
flipping through case reports and encyclopedias
for hours at a time.
(and i keep my job
and tina/betty
and napoleon and i are friendly, if not friends
friends from work)
i am transferred. i am very pleased
i don't have to wear high heels anymore.
genre: freeform poem
explanation: I was reading some Tao Lin poems, and I was impressed by the aesthetic of writing about incredibly mundane things that other poets would either ignore or glorify. So I decided to poeticize the most mundane fantasy I have ever had.
a mary sue fantasy i have had about "the man from uncle" when i am nervous about getting or keeping a job
i have moved to the big apple from someplace small
where people breathe down your neck. idaho or appalachia.
i am intelligent and quiet, easygoing but stubborn.
i get a job
as a secretary for uncle
i like the idea that i am doing something good for the world
i don't like having to wear high heels. but you do
what you have to.
apparently the first thing that happens when you are hired
after the facility tour and after you get your key to the restroom
is napoleon solo asks you out to dinner
as a sort of welcoming party of two.
oh, i say, i can't, i'm busy
but thank you. it's so nice
people are unexpectedly nice
in the big city.
he's persistent and i'm stubborn
and after a while the other typing pool girls
are starting to wonder. most of the women
who turn him down are, you know,
out of his league or married
or something.
(i forgot to mention: i'm reasonably cute
not exactly dumpy, not a bombshell
i wear my hair short)
and i'm stubborn but i'm not that stubborn.
friday night.
i ask him to pick me up at my apartment
if we're going to do this
i'm powdering my nose or whatever girls do before a date
when he comes by. so he's met at the door
by, oh,
sometimes she's named tina and she's a roller derby girl and blonde
sometimes she's named betty and she works in a factory and she's brunette
at any rate she's always very protective and a little territorial
listen, she says,
if you're here to pick up my girl
you can forget it, buddy
nobody kisses those ruby lips
nobody lays a hand on those bazooms
except me
(there's a reason i moved to the city)
it's alright, i say
he's a friend. from work.
right?
tina, betty, please don't punch him.
later, over wine,
i say,
please don't tell anyone
this is a good job
i'd hate to lose it
(i'd hate to have to tell everyone
that i saw you and that quiet blonde russian fellow
making out in an empty office
i was behind the file cabinet
for reasons entirely related to my job.)
after a few months of typing it becomes clear
my strength is in research. i can ferret out
small facts that make all the difference
and i am very happy
flipping through case reports and encyclopedias
for hours at a time.
(and i keep my job
and tina/betty
and napoleon and i are friendly, if not friends
friends from work)
i am transferred. i am very pleased
i don't have to wear high heels anymore.