It wasn’t as though you were marooned —
You weren’t shipwrecked.
You believed the glossy brochures,
The tropical paradise promises,
And bought the one way ticket
With your own eagerness.
Like writing a post card
After your first day,
You told all your friends:
My new job is
Palm trees and daiquiris on the beach
Sunscreen and surf
Burnished skin and bikinis
You should be here, where
The warm trade winds whisper secrets
The flawless sky watches over every endeavor
And the air is balmy and sweet
Like quitting the farm
For a change of scenery
And giving up old tedious tasks,
You couldn’t stop grinning.
But one year later
You bemoaned:
Work is where
The phones clamor like pesky sea gulls
Interoffice bickering sounds like jabbering monkeys
And project deadlines lurk snakelike beneath every stack of paper
Scanning the far horizon,
You signaled a passing ship
(Were they pirates?)
Trying not to gaze too long at the fading speck —
At the friends waving from the shore —
You wanted to forget
The endless compromising
Like potent jungle scents
That tickled your nose
All you could taste was gritty sand.
Eventually you would find
The positive side —
Like iridescent seashells
You didn’t know were in your bag.
by Christy Noel
4/10/03