Up Door, And Out The Door, Hero

Reads: 31  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 2

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Mayhaps to be viewed as a typical personal history of a mostly successful career of an average person. A poetic slant on the failed best, promising and brightest -- looking back on it all. Perhaps the reader sees, or will see, some like frustration in the "what the hell happened?" of it all.

Up Door, And Out The Door, Hero

 

You can approach

all doorways and prove yourself,

.................................and be a flipping genius.

Be a golden hero in a proud gray suit...

…Have hardly a drop of meanness.

 

Sweep the world with youthful enthusiasm.

‘Wow!’ your elders with insightful thought.

...Your deep expertise, once a clarity,

that was appreciated and eagerly sought.

 

Experience kindled your vision's torch,

by which you lit the way.

Your integrity exampled a difference,

and you certainly had your day!

 

But the decades, they seemed to flare on by,

as you called it all:  “Career”.

...Successions of officials and bosses,

and many and many a peer.

 

Soon the faces are all new, again.

Supervisor twenty-seven takes you on.

They’re younger than your kids, ol’ fossil,

and they just don’t dig your song.

 

Once were welcoming doors and interviews;

opportunities, and choice work details...

Those guttered out, about age fifty,

…more symbolic

..............................coffin nails.

 

You missed the glam and elusive triumph.

Somehow, you slipped in the doo.

The brass rings all

................................eluded your grasp;

...a mystery of failed breakthrough.

 

Hard-won skills encountered obsolescence.

Your special knowledge became all antique.

The latest systems and the job patois,

now use words that you don’t speak.

 

And they'd call you an anachronism,

…if they remembered who you were.

You’re now buried alive in a sad career,

no one thinks to disinter.

 

Discreetly they snort and shake their heads,

for an old coot of alienated silence.

Whisper:  "He might have been stupid all along!"

…Or:  "His rusty brain's  long out of compliance."

 

Ah, suffer detached,

..............................imposed cycles

.....................................................of fading use,

as the old faiths are forgotten and wrecked.

Compassion and pity try to soften the blow,

...and you wither from respectful neglect.

 

And so, gray hero, time for a long golden rest,

from backstabbing and sly work-a-day wars.

Gone causes and past honors are memories now,

closing the last of your working-life doors.

 

 

by Steven P. Pody


Submitted: May 12, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Steven P. Pody. All rights reserved.

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Comments

88 fingers

This poem hit me right where I live. I hope I still have some glories left to achieve. Women to make love to. Or am I Don Quixote fighting windmills? Very good poem.

Wed, May 12th, 2021 8:51pm

Author
Reply

Where there's life there's hope, with continued potential for adventure! ...Am not dead yet, and so will continue the quest. ...Good luck with yours! Thanks for the kindly comment. SPP

Wed, May 12th, 2021 4:56pm

Harry Little

The climax of this poetry is that all the appreciations, honors, and distinctions we achieve, when named 'career' seems to fade away. Finally when grown old, these achievements become history.

A wonderful poetry!

Sun, May 16th, 2021 6:05pm

Author
Reply

Glad you liked it Harry. ...I hope you don't have to live it. The longer life is granted, the more that living generations pile up and co-exist. Try to stay relevant, sir! All the best to you and yours. Steve

Sun, May 16th, 2021 11:55am

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