Grey Skies of Chicago

A Girl in Grey on the long brown couch
Under the abstract painting
Of streaks of red and pink and gold and green,
The girl doesn't see the lines on the wall,
Just the pasty white screen
With no new emails
Of many job postings.
20? 30? How many different resumes?
How many different interviews?
The Girl doesn't try to count them all
It's easier to keep going
When the statistics of the past
Are kept under wraps
So the next resume can go out
With an exclamation point.