Aspiration’s Seduction


We discovered.

There's a location.
We all know it.
Main Street America.
That place where
deals are consummated,
innocents made guilty,
trials courtship shams.

We learned.

This place of early starts,
schools short of everything;
lined paper scarce,
pencils with erasers gone,
full length crayons just history,
once chalk stubs, now nubs,
all while administrators ignore and laugh,
all the way to the bank.

Many of usn tried.

That place of the first job,
first date,
first car,
first seduction.

We tested.

Some found the glitter place
where 3-piece suits
came from Brooks Brothers,
not J.C. Penny,
where 2 martini lunches
boded well with the norm,
trumping struggling year’s
Big Macs and cokes.

We joined.

Where going home
meant driver-driven,
doorman-opened,
gilded elevator ascension,
home of wrap-around glass,
marble floor supported,
sensory-indulgent décor,
programmed delusions,
where only one’s own voice was heard,
mirrored self-image as only reflection,
all while standing atop terraced view.

We looked out.

We looked skyward.

We looked down.

Seeing thirty-eight floors below,
everyday people,
ones making possible this out-of-touch bubble,
this insulated veneer,
the platinum exterior,
arresting the arguable bad dream.

Some of us woke up...

Finally.
Jesus… This all over again?