I suspected at long last
my love of corporate headquarters or language
was not unblemished, pure as driven snow,
true. I broke the mold,
dared to stop drug abuse,
took a fork in the road,
went my own way, finally abandoned stock options,
poetry, said "where's the beef,"
"don't call me,"
I'll call you."
I sobbed, yes, uncontrollably,
lacked the right stuff, couldn't pledge
allegiance to flag, Founding Fathers,
CD's, failed to screw you
and the horse you rode in on,
was no Jack Kennedy,
didn't inhale, in fact, sang CEO doodle
all the live-long day.
My hope of hopes,
rap music, was on the wane
so I got a life, took a mistress
to write home about --
greeting cards --
final shot at salvation, last chance
for a wonderful life.
Yes, I finally bit my bullet,
turned flushed cheeks to the light.