STAR ON THE RISE

STAR ON THE RISE

You looked indestructible, the day before they cut you down,
dressed in the armor of suit and tie.

Crunching numbers at your desk, your star on the rise.

A company man, cocky and bright,
with the Fortune 500 clear in your sight.

Climbing the ladder, each pure golden rung,
on status and fringe benefits your star was draped and hung.

The penthouse suite, the Jaguar, the requisite trophy wife,
That was the stuff of your fabulous life.

You looked indefatigable, the day before they swallowed your soul,

The day before the market crashed and took its deadly toll.

A humpty-dumpty on the wall, poised to jump
And doomed to fall,
Popping the aspirins and Tylenol,
And steeling your resolve,
As the money flew away swift as confetti on the wind,
As you said goodbye to your cronies and fairweather friends.

You could feel a strange foreboding, the day your pink slip came
And it made your face sting with shame,
To be caught inside a losing game.

So you packed your mementos and your mugs,
The evidence of your corporate life,
The snapshots of you and your trophy wife
On that last great trip to paradise.

You walked like a dead man to your sporty car,
Your office stripped and vacant, you left the door ajar.

You looked indestructible the day before they cut you down.

Dressed in the armor of suit and tie,
Crunching numbers at your desk, your star on the rise.

-BRUCE POTTS
COPYRIGHT 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED