Yes, yes, I remember you,
Though not your name,
How do you do.
Me, I'm doing very well,
See my clothes,
Can't you tell?
You always had a snooty air,
You talked as if I wasn't there;
I was stoned at your Career Fair;
I couldn't stand all that hair-sprayed air;
All those hustlers in their booths,
Buttoned down and bright of tooth;
All those phony, phony smiles,
'Won't you come and sit awhile? '
I could see them in their office jobs,
Offices without door knobs;
Day after day in their little rooms,
Fluorescent light in little tombs;
Not for me, your nine to five;
I knew that I would not survive,
A robot in a cheap print dress
Wondering who I must impress;
Day after day, year after year,
Each paycheck clutched in greed with fear;
Knowing I could lose my job,
Avoiding all those vulgar slobs;
Bored, depraved, an office hack,
Knowing I should not talk back;
All those Christmas party jokes
Ho, ho, ho about what I smoked;
Grateful for job security
And coffee breaks, what irony!
Closed down plants or work downsized;
Promises that were only lies;
I've lived a rebel all my life;
A life outdoors, oh star-lit nights;
And through it all I wrote and wrote,
Poured out my soul which people quote;
Money means Time in this world;
I've spent my time like a spoiled rich girl;
The Times I've had in those far countries;
Oh the Art I've known in recording me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem