The Rolex, the Porsche, the Mansion & Everything
A day in the life of a corporate female
Hard day at the office–
her Porsche 944 Turbo tucks into garage,
her Campari soda awaits inside
the four-bedroom, four-bath McMansion
with walk-out basement apartment.
Her diamond and gold Rolex
reports 9:30 PM. Home early tonight!
Time enough — a couple of drinks,
several cigarettes, decompression
from the day.
No time for Jacuzzi tub again.
Maybe on the weekend,
if time away from the office.
Pops a TV dinner into microwave.
Tomorrow a fresh salad, maybe.
Remember to buy some vitamins!
Junk mail, bills, one from fitness club
she never has time to use.
“Ding!” says the microwave.
She settles down on the butter-cream
Italian leather sofa,
starts an old movie,
dines by the light of her Tiffany lamp,
grabs her mini-recorder,
makes a note: paint this room
midnight blue!
Too busy, too exhausted these months
to think about meeting people.
Reaches into her basket of remotes,
turns on the CD carousel,
punches in the code for Enya,
makes another note:
program universal remote.
Picks up pile of bills,
puts them back down.
Shamrock has keeled over.
Make a note: ask housekeeper
to water houseplants.
Especially this shamrock she’s tended
over 20 years,
that traveled across the country
through multiple corporate moves.
Make a note: call wood man.
A nice fire would take the chill off,
but there’s no time tonight,
and no wood out there anyway.
She makes a note: buy a hearth rug
to protect new white Berber carpet
from stray sparks.
Time to get ready for bed.
Remember that Southern bitch
who said her master bath was cavernous?
If she ever had an interesting man
stay over, he could sink his feet
into the hand-sculpted oval
Chinese rug she bought.
In the wrap-around mirrors,
she could secretly admire his bare bottom
as he bends over to brush his teeth.
Maybe she’ll go to a trendy cigar bar
this weekend and meet someone nice.
A younger man, who likes to hug a lot.
She makes a note:
consult a cosmetic surgeon.
Inside her vast walk-in closet —
what to wear, what to wear?
Silk-wool-cashmere jacket
that matches her eyes?
Suede Bally pumps,
matching Evan Picone pantyhose,
suede purse with gold chain — yes.
Silk blouses lined up by rainbow colors,
labeled shoe boxes,
evening gowns,
full laundry basket.
Weekend is coming.
She sinks into her pillow-top mattress,
recalls so many weeknights in lumpy hotel beds.
She records a note: find sheer fabric
to drape around bedposts
for softer, more romantic look.
Checks blood pressure.
Makes a note: refill prescription.
On the bedside table,
a mountain of hardback books.
Too tired tonight.
Maybe this weekend,
by the fire, a nice glass of Merlot.
But now she must focus
on her Board presentation
first thing in the morning.
Sweet dreams are for other people.
— Adelia E. Ritchie, PhD
Author’s note: In 1997, when I lived and worked in Atlanta, GA, USA, I wrote an essay from which this poem was born. It was originally published on Medium.com in 2018 after I had semi-retired and sold my business. Looking back now, I am even more grateful that I woke up (and I do mean “WOKE”) and am now living the Pura Vida lifestyle in Costa Rica, far remote from corporate BS, with its false values and black soul.
A friend of my wife's lived this kind of life for decades, after them both starting out as primary school teachers together. It can be very corrosive on the personality. Not in your case, of course, my friend xx