The corporate BigBoy
Bribed me with a
Sport Utility Vehicle
Sure, I can drive around on Sundays
And impress the chicks
At the Laundromat
But for sixty, seventy hours a week
I have no will of my own
I’m just a spineless snake-oiled salesman
With a vicious appetite for
The kind of guy even I don’t want to associate with.
But if I quit
There’s alimony and child support and—
Excuse me, but I’ve got to make some more cold calls.
(Previously published in Main Street Rag Poetry Journal, Vol 5, No 1 Spring 2000)