Businessman on the Metro

Erik Homsapaya

Would be tycoon and

Aspiring chairman of the board,

This morning, the floor

And the seats, are yours.

Siphon your pre-professional jargon

Into a glass booth before

That snailpiece clipped to your ear

Crawls in deeper, past the canal

And into your pumping thyroid.

On first introduction

Your Louis tie bar

And high-cut

Burberry blazer

Would scream

Esquire, "Dress like

you own the boardroom,"

August issue, 2005.

But with that sad attempt

To slick back a wild-night bed head,

Sprinting to make the Ten o'clock

From Main to Downtown,

Lowballing distributors on your iPhone,

Crumpled forms escaping your murse.

When you finally crash into the office --

Instead of that raise you and your padded shoulders

Expect on top of your desk, these days

Its much more likely you'll find your name,

In black Sharpie,

Scribbled on an empty box,

Your possessions inside or waiting to jump in.