Able boys who once hustled in mail rooms
now sprout green from foggy MBA halls
to magically bloom as CEOs at forty stories,
chalk still on their hands, cell phone, laptop,
the tools of their trade held tight and close,
they hurry through revolving doors, laze
on extra-long yachts in tropical harbors,
in hot tubs, on their bellies for massage,
toss back cocktails past midnight
to help daylight disappear
In this Age of Slick, there is no cubicle
wide enough for the beast to prowl,
deep enough for the mutt to dig,
and for that prize they wear the rest:
latest shoe models, conservative suits,
fashionable ties, perfect hair
I see them in the bubble of First Class A/C
flip through life to bright screens of P & L-s that glow
over stick-like children in the sharp, jagged rubble
of war zones flashed on cable news
And over the forest where I snowshoed one winter
in the fresh scent of unmarked snow,
up where the pines and wildflowers smelled strong
in late summer just before the aspens turned
above the tree line where the black bear sleeps