Her Day (poem)

Her Day

Will you do something?

Uncontexted, the question compels, does it?

The writer had been hired to complete a story

Not so fast, though. The publisher prefers she prove herself

She reviews the half-done coattail she might ride to fame

Maisie Day, reformed sex-worker turned private agent

Encounters her usual difficulty with one of her exes

The client not significant to the world, a rich man behind the scenes

But thanks to ideology and funding schemes

Appointed to a post. Naturally, vetted. But the party’s

reputation firm is thorough and aggressive

Emails she ignores, texts arrive alerts switched off

Maisie, wisely enough, accepts no surrogate

The man, villain or victim, undecided

the poor dead author’s notes inform the writer

Is called Janeway. Janeway finally crosses her courtyard

and she watches him on the security feed

Her secretary, a former teacher, a bodybuilder

of six-foot seven, described as massively strong, buzzes

“A Mr. Janeway. He says he knows you. Insists

you’ll let him in.”

“Well, fair is fair. Join us, though.”

The two men perch on furniture. Janeway, skittish, says

“You weren’t like the others. You’ve always had class.”

“It’s useless to butter me up. Although,” she quips,

“What you got up to with the ‘others’ I’d hate to ask…

Aren’t, in fact, they your problem?”

But Janeway answers: “I must be safe.”

“I doubt you are,” says the secretary. “Heed. Maisie requires a deposit.

And her hourly fee is two-fifty, plus expenses.”

“Is detecting so lucrative?” Janeway sounds a touch bitter.

“Buying silence is. So costly, I ought to say.”

“But you will…? Take me on, I mean. Find out if anything’s

bubbling in the background. Find out who cares…”

He clears his throat. “Who cares whether I’m destroyed, or left alone.”

“Darling Janeway, I would happily see you destroyed.”

But Maisie is mostly joking.

Her Day

The Lab-Grown Brain Makes Short Fiction

(2021, Stephanie Foster)