ManicDDaily

(Self) Portraiture In the Modern Age

I sit
in front of my computer
squinting into
the screen.

Gallup asks me
to rate my life,
on a scale
of 1 to 10,

Then to rate my life
five years from now.

My answers are supposed to be
confidential,

meaning that only a select few
sitting in Omaha, Nebraska,
and their computer system,
now know
not only how I think the President,
Congress, the military industrial complex,
health care reform, various commercial enterprises
my employer and workplace and my exercise program
are doing,
but also
how my life turned out
and will.

(Participation is my chance,they tell me,
to “make my opinions count.”)

Sometimes I only need go up to 5–a half-life–
that being a world that I cannot imagine
without–you name it–Pizza Hut–Citibank–Ramada Inn–
and 1 meaning that I think the
pizza/services/rooms
really stink.

I picture these (presumably) Nebraskans
depicting me
as a series of checkered squares mounted
onto the sides of their cubicles,
not so much like the pixels of a super close-up
as the pattern of a restaurant tablecloth
tacked up over damaged sheetrock–

The cut-out is shaped
like a woman–as slender as the target at
a shooting range–only this one
is of a certain age group, i.e. her squares
intersect with other squares
perhaps of a different color–
but only with those that also do not frequent Pizza Hut,
are able to imagine a world without Citibank,
and can’t remember whether they ever stayed
at a Ramada Inn–

And yet, the squared curves
have a life, although, admittedly,
it rates below 10.

Were the questions interesting?
Gallup asks me at the end of each survey,
as I sit
in front of the computer,
squinting
into the screen.

*************************************
Ha.  Here’s another silly one for DAY 18!  Of National Poetry Month.  Posted for Brian Miller’s prompt on dVerse Poets Pub to write a self-portrait.  I am, in fact, a proud member of the Gallup Poll.