Edwin Cordero


Income in the Bank Poem by Edwin Cordero


Sitting in the secretary's office, I ask
When they are hiring, or if the time
Has passed.
“You cannot replace those here, ” she says,
“Or in any other place, I fear, unless
A political dealer is your friend.”

Aghast,
Memories, of not long back, blast
Freshly into the present frame.
That man,
Colleague, fellow student, master
Of planning, knew when to grasp
At his supervisor's egoistic mass
And tame.

I offer my thanks
And leave,
Not regretting, although displeased
At the punishment on my attempts
Toward an honest path.
What's left to wonder? I guess
If the chunks
Of his soul sold are worth
Income in the bank.

Submitted: Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 10, 2013

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