by D.G. Geis

I worked 25 years in investment management.
I worked for a Swiss bank.
I worked making money for people,
People that already had money
And had nothing else but money.
(It’s a common problem among the rich)
After 25 years in investment management
I found a swell job as a private trustee.
I made more money for the beneficiary of the trust.
I made more money for myself.
I worked very hard for 6 years.
Working hard mattered to me,
But it didn’t matter to the trust’s beneficiary.
She drank herself to death.
Then I ran a private investment partnership,
Where, yes, you guessed it,
I made more money.
More more more
Less     less     less
More more more
After 3 years of that,
I walked away. I was rich too.
Being rich is an OK part time job;
Even better than retirement.
Then I got cancer.
I studied philosophy.
I did chemotherapy.
(Actually I did these three together)
For one year I lay flat on my back,
Injected myself with poison,
Puked my guts out, lost all my hair,
Drank peach Snapple
And watched the X-Files on TV—religiously.
Death is good.
The cancer went away.
I got out of the philosophy business.
My hair grew back and I wrote my first poem.
I was sixty one.
It was a poem about dying.
(It’s a common problem among poets)
I get bored easily.
My wife gets bored easily.
Retirement is not for everybody.
Now I am looking for work again.
I am industrious and I can make money.
I took care of my dying father,
So I am also compassionate
You should hire me
Not because I make money
Not because I write poetry
Not because I am compassionate
You should hire me
Because I really really need the work.