They’re about us who have to sell,
sell even in our sleep, about product,
about marketing in a leap at a wake-up call,
marketing as last thought before sleep,
about discounts, razor thin deals,
knowing how to close
About us, who can’t sit still without
a beer and a ball game;
about our work ethic, our numbers,
our motivation, our values:
are we easy to look at,
where do we live,
what cars do we drive?
The wife, can she entertain?
About manhattans with an imaginary pal,
a lousy salad and a cardboard fish chewed
on the edge of a bed in front of a TV,
a stack of trade journals, an easy paperback,
the cigar smoker down the hall
mixing his sour smell with the sharp stink
of unventilated bathrooms, saccharine cologne
About how we feel abandoned, let down,
yet we cannot slump or weep,
our eyes must blaze, we must be amazing,
high step out of elevators with the zest
of a running back on the two-yard line;
endure hardy handshakes with clients who will
help us cash out before our life insurance does
Always be gracious and laugh at their jokes
And whether we can fly home
on late Friday afternoons and face
our kids with a crooked wink,
a halfway hug and a briefcase of lies