Wall Street

 

 

Wall Street.

Work to buy a penthouse suite.

Power comes from a balance sheet.

A New York Yankee’s box seat.

 

Wall Street.

Promise flares from traders’ extremities like a white heat.

Succeed or be a deadbeat.

Life is never downbeat.

 

Wall Street.

Until I’m there I’m incomplete.

Unless you’re there, you’re obsolete.

The sound of ticker symbols marching to a steady drumbeat.

 

Wall Street.

 
 
This poem is about: 
Me
My country

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741