My So-Called IKEA Life

A retail villa in rain,
the sluice of a late Saturday
gurgling down past concrete parking garage...
egging cartops.

My office is re-painting, re-decorating.
The staff is invited for their input.
Of course, being in the photo/art dept...
we have to be extra-special like plumage.
But the four of us can't agree on wall color.
I'm being proactive then,
scouting the Stoughton IKEA for accessories
so I can present a list of budgeted items
to my supervisor.
I really have no life but this will fill the downtimes.

There are only couples & college roommates
milling about the vast showroom.
Impatient six-year olds pick-up and slam phones,
re-arrange magnets on refrigerators.
We are in someone else's house,
but we (the vast, prospective buyer "we")
are rude guests.
We comment candidly about the furniture,
we nitpick about the curtains & towels.
We rummange through the drawers,
displace space & stay way past our time.

Everything I note has a code name:
Allak, Jarpen, Nyttja.
I feel like the Production Designer on an early 70's
Bergman film.
Liv Ullman must be right around the corner,
probably behind the gum-striped shower.
The showroom's sub-divided
into Living Space, Bed/Bath, Office...
signs & arrows signs & arrows overhead
direct me
through mock sets of East European lifestyles
w/ all the right books on the stainless steel shelves.

I'm an imposter here.
The young Anglos & loud Hispanic women
are plotting destiny.
Would track lighting really look good w/ that?
I feel like a serial killer stalking...what?
Distant, outside all this excited pre-planning
just trying to goose some sort of feel.
What must it be like?
The perfect heavy woods & olive panels,
the myriad CD racks & lockboxes,
the rugs w/ their tri-color geometric designs...
on & on it goes.
Furniture porno.

I see myself in a loft apartment in Vancouver,
freelancing as Production Manager
or perhaps I've bagged the golden goose!
Directing music videos & sleek car commercials!
(that year on the fest circuit w/ "AERO" really
paying off)
Always on the highway.
Airport lounges & late nights in hotels.
Barely "home" for the holidays.
But those moments of respite,
fondling my disposable income...
I plant bedrooms & stack countertops.
Holger Czukay or perhaps exotica
sweetly fills the air from my high-powered
but leonine speaker system.
I'm dressed in Apartment 9
and my abs are indomitable.
I look & feel like a job interview.
All spanking new & impressive.

I've bought matching pale plates
& chrome forks.
My cappucino maker grinds away
even though it's four in the afternoon.
But I need the boost before getting back
to those Radiohead tearsheets.
Metrasexual & urbane...
the ladies love me as confidant & more.
Aleece would be proud.

I settle into my Malung chair
like a 40's bomber pilot easing into a gun turret.
I re-align my beautiful desk,
making sure the Dokument in/out tray
is kitty-corner to the Tertial desk lamp.
All right angles here.
I flick on the Mac & my cubist screensaver dissolves.
Snow falls outside the single wall of window
& in the easing twilight,
there is an imminent night of dreamy Canada...
I am all soft wood & purple paint.