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
Dupes
The kind of guy even I don’t want to associate with.

But if I quit
There’s alimony and child support and—
Oh, hell

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)