Archive
01/08/09 - (2)
Milestone
When he reached the milestone age of seventy, He realized, wistfully, that all he'd ever really wanted to be Was the profoundly irresponsible class clown he'd been,
That mischievous kid often sentenced to the unlit cloakroom, For putting tacks on his fourth-grade teacher's chair, A ten-year-old who, grudgingly, grew up,
With all the privileges attending a future fostered by affluence: Boys' summer camp, private prep-school education, Prestigious universities, exclusive fraternal organizations,
A stellar forty-year career, in Wall Street America, With board memberships in five elite Manhattan firms, Before a luxurious East Hampton retirement
(Yachting, polo, golf, fine-art collecting, lavish parties, Jet-setting, extramarital affairs, alcoholism — The good life to which his birthright had entitled him).
So when he reached the milestone age of seventy, He began surreptitiously placing tacks on dining-room chairs. The only problem: his country club's cloakroom was brightly lit.
01/08/09 - (2)
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