Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

A comparatively new suit,
Grey-green in color
The color has a name
But it is like those lives
That wear it to meetings, business trips
A bit of fertility in the drab
Machiavellian evolution of businesses

Donning that suit
LaFollette whirlwinds
Through the revolving door
Into the department store
At which he is a merchandise manager

Maybe insipid coffee
Or an ill word from his wife
Or private schooled daughter
His scowl like the prow
of an ocean liner
the little skiffs
better get out of the way

dabbed with cologne
though not syrupy
combed, almost manicured hair
though thinning strands
at the front of an ovoid head
troubled out of place
by a stiff drink of morning breeze

shoes as shiny
as a conversation’s rhythm
can buff

alternating red, silver stripes
on a silk tie
picked up at the Gallerie Lafayette
Paris, Christmas past
The tiers of merchandise
Looking on the ground floor’s
Rip and roar of fashionable
Europeans rich and poor
And this tie caught his wife’s eye
And he liked it, yes
Not too ornate, not too dull

Into his American store
A pin on the map
Of National Dry Goods
He walks, tie tac,
Cuff links, scowl
Gruff “Good Morning”
When addressed

So many meetings today
The sales reps
Monkey chatter
Climbing the walls of his office
And the department buyers
Of furniture, bedding, housewares
Looking for a cue
Smile, contribute, remain still
They defer
They concur
One, the furniture man,
Does occasionally argue
At least one that’s not a toady
But don’t press it

The general goes to the elevator
Punches six
The jaw poised to bite
He is thinking figures
Sales down
And he must answer
New York
He will promote something
Perhaps a Henredon sale
Or Salterini patio furniture
Something to boost
His standing
Maybe he will earn a trip up
To the home office
And a store of his own
In Louisville or Kansas City

I've put this on 4 poetry forums. I think it is a decent poem but I don't think any magazine will publish it. I'm working on a book and this one will go in. If you see flaws in the poem let me know. I'll change them if I agree and if possible with the level of my ability and judgment.

Have a good Thanksgiving. You will probably read that wish tomorrow or a couple of days from now. Stay safe, keep writing, don't weep for the insanity of the country----keep yourself sane.

Enough with the medals and all that other stuff they pin on their chest.Enough with the insane parade.You nailed it.

in most cases the corporation has become this mindless, soulless behemoth that sucks the life from the peons that keep it alive....the bean-counters all come up with a system to quantify every aspect....numbers that are fed into software programs that miss more than they grasp...the working world model is based on speed....outracing the competitor, and in the wake of that sprint are very real dead bodies....folks that give so much are grist for the mill

I think you have captured the nature of that quite well danno....the grey-green drab of a suit that matches a zombie personality....and it's that model that makes people ill...

Unless one kowtows into the sycophant they are looking for he is simply replaced from the growing pool of unemployment ...."You don't like, we take a dip into the pool, and you are gone....So get back to work....I want that report Yesterday....I want those numbers UP !"

It's no different for the middle manager type than the assembly line worker... if you're not in the 1%....

I can't think at the moment of specific critique but will read a few more times...I think the entire poem has that grey-green pallor that resonates and you introduce that image early on in the poem and it holds true throughout

Thanks revolution and saw. Dan

a daily parade sounds like a heavy stuff to bare for anyone beyond any posible kind or ornaments or expensive like distractions... and General is also General is Spanish...!
Gracias for the poem, theirishsea!