The Truer Interview Poem by Romella Kitchens

The light in the waiting room for the job
interviews was slightly blue and eerie.
There was a coffee machine with coffee in
it but it was such old coffee it was now like
a harder person - cold and cruel.
Bitter to the taste.
We sat at opposite ends of the room -
our resumes in our hands.
We both had suits on and the fear of
not making the cut but she looked past
me, never spoke to me.
Unless her voice was the light fixture's hum.
When I asked her if she had the time,
she looked away.

I was "Black" to her.
I could tell.
Therefore; she didn't have to talk
to me nor fraternize with me to any degree.
Even just to look at her watch or to accept
I had a face, a heart, a soul - not that unlike her.

The light fixture's tubes burst.
Startled breath then composure.
The only light then a coy sunlight wavering just
outside the smeared window.
But, we could see each other now - even more
clearly.