THE RESORT (a recurring dream) Come in and sit down in the coffee-stain brown conference room of the hotel in paradise. Welcome! This won’t take too long. Out the window you see the beach that you came for, the sparkling blue topaz you’ll soon be immersed in as soon as we’re finished. This shouldn’t take long. Yes: the room’s rather dark and smells of stale donuts and Sterno. Outside, just imagine: like fresh sea and jasmine. You’ll be out there soon. This shouldn’t take long. The presentation is part of what you agreed to. You’re here for one day, so we’ll try to go quickly. Please open your binders. (I must take this call. I’ll be back in a minute.) Just look at that ocean: Just think of that feeling, warm sea on your skin, that’s so tired from traveling. The A/C’s not working; The workman comes Monday. By then you’ll have left us. I won’t be a moment. Page one of your binders: A brief presentation, and then we’ll release you to fresh air and music, to sun and clear ocean — It’s right there before you but we cannot let you until we have finished this quick presentation, 100-page binder our first of five speakers explaining our business. The bright sun is dimming. The beach slowly empties. We know you’re impatient. You’re leaving tomorrow. We’ll start in a moment. This shouldn’t take long. Copyright 2024 by Jennifer Keith
Jennifer Keith plays bass for the rock band Batworth Stone. Her poems have appeared in The Free State Review, Alan Squire Bulletin, Best American Poetry 2015, and elsewhere. Her first full-length poetry collection, Terminarch, won the 2023 Able Muse Book Award. She lives in Baltimore, Maryland.
30 for 30 is sponsored by Potomac Review
Oh, this is fun! My son has to go on business meetings (like this I assume). He travels sometimes all around the country and even around the world, but no time for touristing. I say, “What was it like?” He says, “Work.” But what did you do? He says, “Work.” Now, thanks to this poem, I think I have a sense of it. Thank you.