2014 and Counting
Once upon a time in 1975, a young man joined the workforce.
Heaped with promises, he was of good cheer perforce.
Eagerly he went to work each night, not feeling any fright,
for company representatives said he would be treated right.
They would give him life insurance, health insurance,
dental insurance, pension and savings financial assurance.
He would have a credit union to save and borrow from,
store back some of his pay, buy a car, and never feel glum.
Diligently he worked night after night, third shift no graveyard,
rather an opportunity for him to succeed in the highest regard.
He learned intricate details and his methods were thorough,
They said to keep it up, promotion was coming on the morrow.
He finally did get promoted, was given more responsibility,
He learned new duties and carried them out with perspicacity.
Enduring the gossip and rumor mill, he persevered through all,
When he got another raise and promotion, he was walking tall.
Then one day at the ripe old age of twenty-nine,
The gibes and jabs clued him in: he was no longer fine.
The company power-brokers were under-cutting his walk,
needling so effectively with their underhanded cruel talk.
Over the hill at thirty, he took the hint and moved away,
to a magnificent city up north full of color, lively and gay.
No one would have him at his former occupation,
Was forced to take up menial work, with resignation.
His thirties went the same all of the way through,
he lived hand to mouth, with little left for new shoes.
Halcyon twenties faded in memory, as happiness ebbed.
He emptied trash and cleaned floors, and thus stayed fed.
The forties settled in with a stroke of good fortune,
Happy times returned at a time opportune –
The parties were grand, no lack for company,
succession of fun a reward for this progeny.
Then he took up writing and poetry,
and opened new vistas of possibility.
His goals in sight, mileposts knocked down,
received encouragement from many all around.
The old celebrations and soirees replaced
with the satisfaction of his literary place.
Traded one pleasure for another, ephemeral to permanent;
Hoped his writings would survive, etched in Net firmament.
Yet he realized millions of others held the same great hopes,
So on weekends he still sought good times and funny jokes.
***
Time passes and he still strives and struggles,
His house warm and cozy, his cat snuggles.
The job pays the bills and he stokes his willpower,
Someday it will pay off and greater fortunes flower.
In a dim corner of the city his keyboard clicks to this day,
Months, years, decades roll by, but to his task he will stay.
Worse fates have befallen an average Baby Boomer,
This one counts himself lucky, this “dedicated Homer.”
- end.
