"N
     o;"

she said, slowly,
the word dropping from her lips like the gentle uncorking
of a stopped-up bottle.

"No,
Maybe I won't do a great job.

I’ll do a
FINE job,
a
GOOD job,
a
~decent~ job,
an O-KAY JOB, an
ac
cep
table/ job.”

(First, she enunciated. Then, she spat.)

"Maybe--"
--she paused, for breath or consideration
as an overdue gleam
found it's way into her countenance--

"Maybe I'll do a MEDIOCRE
job. An AVERAGE job.
A /much-to-be-desired/ job.
Perhaps
I'll
do
a
SAD job, a SLOW job, a HACKNEYED job, a ~pathetic~ job!

MAYBE..."

...here, she paused again, as one should always do when giving a proclamation...

"...I'll do a BAD job.

And THAT'S O KAY."



Speech complete,
she sat--heaving--with her knees pulled into her chest.
After a good while
and a few kicked clumpfuls of grass,
she rose
and returned to her life,
doing just about as well
what she had done
before.