This Is My Chance

Each section is based on the Oxford English Dictionary’s word of the day from May, 2024.

I. speccy, n.

No one will get in my way.
Not Donna. Not Hafsa.
Not Jayden. No one.

I will run this company.
I’ll wear the symbolic lapel pins
at press conferences.

My Wikipedia page will be
hastily reedited every hour
by my legion of devoted followers.

Society is built by the strong,
like me. No use looking
at the bodies in my wake.

II. slangster, n.

No one knows
the heights
of my ambition.

I code-switch
by Hafsas’s cubicle, 
wear a friendly face.

A different mask
for every person, keep them all
in my back pocket.

Wear whatever pantsuit or dress
is required to curry the favor
of the lechers in charge.

III. talkation, n.

It’s exhausting,
really,
all the small talk.

It’s all so slow,
meandering,
repetitive.

But you have to do it
or they label you
a loner.

No one promotes
the standoffish person—
productivity be damned.

IV. rutilate, v.

Swoop in when
someone has a sick day,
say I got them covered.

Complete their work 
just slightly under par
in their name.

Complete my work
with extra vigor, precision,
the same day.

Make
sure
I shine.

V. disco nap, n.

There’s no time
to rest, no time
to sleep.

This speech won’t
revise itself; it needs
to plant the seed

that I should be
Miguel’s replacement.
His retirement banquet, 

the perfect opportunity to show
warmth, respect, honor, responsibility —
my best human masks.

VI. psychomancy, n.

They don’t need
this promotion
as much as I do.

Their families had food,
had school,
had connections to power.

I hear my grandma’s voice—
the fancy-people one—
come out of my mouth

during the closing of this speech,
as Miguel and Thomas
smile and nod in my direction.

VII. kintsugi, n.

The office isn’t the same
after someone leaves,
even if it’s a retirement.

You discover the tasks
they did
that no one acknowledged.

You need to be the glue
that holds the office
together,

and you need to make sure
they know
it’s you.

VIII. motorkhana, n.

You have to show
ambition, but not show
that you want it.

I need to cover my job
and some of Miguel’s vacuum,
but only enough

for Thomas to notice
how much more I do 
than Donna.

Can’t break a sweat,
can’t tense an eyebrow—
a skyscraper in a hurricane.

IX. mossify, v.

Steal resources,
drink their water.
Thrive.

Take the spotlight,
the attention, the applause.
Thrive.

Bask in sunlight,
stretch your back.
Thrive.

Live as
they fade away.
Thrive.

X. short sauce, n.

During the interview,
I talk about
my grandmother,

specifically,
helping her
in her garden,

filling a basket

with potatoes and onions,
helping cook dinner.

That should appeal
to whatever hearts they have.
I’m a shoo-in.

XI. garbage time, n.

Act humble
when they ask how
the interview went.

Act surprised
when the announcement
is made.

Act gracious
when they offer their
vapid congratulations.

Act congenial
when they describe their visions
for the future of the company.

XII. filly-folly, n.

Donna actually thought
she might have
gotten the job.

I pretend
I appreciate her
constant, inane bullshit.

Jayden believes they’re
in the inner circle,
my number two.

Placating these babies
takes so much 
of my valuable time.

XIII. dim sim, n.

The branch needs to run
efficiently, effectively,
to make me look good.

All parts must work together;
each person’s strength
must compliment the others.

The manager’s job
is so increase profit
by whatever means possible.

Modifying how
data is crunched
doesn’t hurt either.

XIV. legiferous, adj.

I rule the day-to-day
of every person
in this building.

My word directs
time, energy, resources
to complete 

whatever tedious minutia
increases the company stock
by a fraction of a cent.

But, my actions are
still dictated by some asshole
I’ve never met.

XV. bahama grass, n.

Not good enough. I thought
this promotion would fill the void, 
but it’s simply

not good enough. I need
to aim higher, climb the ladder—
more money, more power, more.

I’ll bury them, work them
to the ground, claim all their ideas,
accomplishments, as my own.

I’ll bury them, invade their circles,

their excluding group chats,
bring every one of them down.

XVI. pollyanna, n.

Choosing a gambit
is the hardest step.
So many possibilities,

branching paths. But,
once a decision’s made, it’s
a simple transverse wave.

It comes to me
like the line that follows
an hours-long earworm.

Our company’s never had
a woman as CEO.
This is my chance.

XVII. kund, n.

The outrage machine
has been refined by
the algorithm;

I just need
to utilize the tools
efficiently.

A hashtag here, a blogpost
there, a TikTok reposted
to Reels and YouTube Shorts.

Tears of frustration
will chip away the barricade
around the castle.

XVIII. pauciloquent, adj.

Alt accounts allow me
to amplify the outrage
without any of its slander

tracing back to me.
It’s important,
you must agree:

a thoughtful leader
does not let
the squabbles of social media

cloud her judgement,
interfere with her business,
distract her from her goals.

XIX. monstriferous, adj.

Publicly toeing
the company line
affords certain privileges.

Namely, when
the frenzied mob
arrives at the doorstep
 
of the national headquarters,
executives can no longer
feign ignorance.

Thus, they reach out
to me
to draft a statement.

XX. mundungus, n.

Executives
must believe they are
immortal.

After an hour,
I open the window—
fresh air.

Constant fiddling
with cigarettes, vapes,
between

their fingers and their lips.
They say it helps
them think.

XXI. dumbfoundment, n.

Somehow,
they are shocked
a statement

isn’t enough.
They thought a jpeg
would satiate

the feedback loop.
When calls for further changes
fill the replies,

they scan the directory
and the only woman in management
is me.

XXII. chinchery, n.

Pinch
a penny
here.

Make the
more experienced, more expensive
guy resign.

Save
a dollar
there.

Avoid
training costs by
hiring in-house.

XXIII. fugazi, adj. and n.

Keep moving,
so they can’t see the seam
of my human mask.

A pensive nod is
enough, enough
for solidarity.

They can believe
we are
the same.

They can believe
I’m in this
for the collective.

XXIV. daladala, n.

They hold
an actual press conference
to announce my promotion.

I’m
not just a jpeg,
not a pre-recorded video.

I get cameras, microphones,
annoying questions
from annoying journalists.

I will carry
these inept fools
on my back.

XXV. stephanian, adj.

My office is larger
than my first apartment, which I split
with three other girls in college.

It comes with an assistant
with a name
not worth remembering.

He manages my
calendar, filters
my messages.

I could spend full days
staring out my window,
talking to no one.

XXVI. fairy gold, n.

A signing bonus,
stock options,
a healthy raise.

This was the goal.
I saw it
in my dreams.

I have the power,
the money,
the peons below me.

Why am I still
empty? What will satiate
this void?

XXVII. eye-rhyme, n.

Through amalgamation,
blend in with their
stoic faces, dark suits.

Though we look similar,
I can tell
we move at different tempos.

Tough facades
over
fragile egos.

Enough phonies
to make
you puke.

XXVIII. catfish, v.

To placate Donna,
I promoted her
to manage our IT department.

It seemed a way of
giving her toothless power,
giving me progressive optics.

That was my error.
She wanted to make
a name for herself.

She opened an investigation
into the scandal’s origins.
She found my IP address.

XXIX. sorry, v.

The memos fly fast—
around me, over me,
before finally reaching me.

I learn of it
in the boardroom,
an emergency meeting.

I sit in a pool of static
as whatshisname leads Jayden
into my office.

I hate the look
on their face—
pity, disappointment.

XXX. make-a-do, n.

Waves of sound
slam into me at once
like a sonic boom—

executives in the boardroom
detailing
every breadcrumb I left,

Jayden’s unearned outrage
at my lofty ambitions
and distasteful tactics,

my barbaric yawp
into the empty space
below my desk.

XXXI. summer blink, n.

The job is gone;
my reputation trashed;
my mentions, the poison garden in Alnwick.

I avoid screens
as much as I can
to quiet my brain.

At least
there’s my severance pay
in the bank,

the upturn
in the company stock
after my exit.