A Career Death in Corporate America

A Career Death in Corporate America

I zigged but should have zagged
bought but should have sold
I might have hid what I disclosed.

So notify my next of kin
I’ve committed corporate sin.

In a humming white light closet
thoughts whirl like a dervish
I perspire through my coat.

So notify my next of kin
I’ve fallen down the stairs.

Flanked by oily foreheads
pressed white shirts with yellowed pits
witness bearers to my shame.

So notify my next of kin
Our name is in the dirt.

“You can’t go to your desk
for personal effects.
We’ve got to let you go.

So notify your next of kin
Their life line has been cut.”

Though door locks will be changed
my ghost will haunt these halls
in hushed talk and taboo.

So notify my next of kin
I have nowhere to go.

This, the final act
the grand finale rack
of quiet desperation.

So notify my next of kin
I won’t be coming home.



Note: At pyrotechnics shows, fireworks are often mounted to wood racks. The grandest rack, the “finale rack,” is always saved for last.