The Ladder

Low – chance.

Middle – stock.

Upper – land, buildings by the block.

To those below the upper crust:

“Look up, aim high.

Climb out, gain clout.”

Among their golden ring of trust:

“How can we keep

those people out?”

Even if they don’t intend, no reason do they have to bend,

to look outside,

that circle, from which stems their pride.

“Hello Jeff! Here’s my son, Jim.

Surely you remember him?

Could you please just squeeze him in?”

“Of course, Eugene, and how is Esther?

We do have an open desk here –

he’ll get on great with our investors.”

And though the posting’s up in public,

unknowns taking time to submit

simply do not know, the position was filled years ago,

at sailing school,

at summer camp,

or some other social amp,

which, had they the fortune of attending,

would have kept them from unending

lines of, “No, not you.”

So easy for their dreams to shatter, once they understand the matter,

– it’s difficult to climb a ladder –

with rungs missing, or removed.