THE DEATH OF A SALESMAN

Stifled by a grey wool suit
My rage and my passion
Went to sleep.
Constricted by silent, social constructs
My identity vanished,
And my smile hung on my face
Like a certificate of stupidity.
I flashed my salesworthy ass
To every paying customer.
“Attention all corporate shoppers,
There’s a fluorescent light
special in aisle four.”
Ready to be packaged and sold
A slave to the game,
Or a rat in a race
It’s all the same thing
With a different name.
Anyone can play.
It’s easy to learn.
Just grab your ankles
And never let it show when it hurts;
To watch your spirit die slowly.
The old me
Never seen or heard from again.
(Until Now)
So if you’re gay, don’t tell.
And if you’re a woman you’ve
got more to market
And more to sell.
And if you’re anything other than white,
You better be ready to fight.
Or sell out your heritage
To pass as light-skinned.
But no one knows better
Than the lonely man at the top
Just how much of us may be bought.
It’s just another day on the job
Lookin for another sucker to rob
To ensure each cog
In this great machine gets its grease.
We’ve been recorded and piss-tested,
Insulted and rejected,
Harassed and molested,
By old white men who couldn’t do the work
If they tried.
If you’re not a clone you’re stigmatized.
God forbid, “I apologize sir,
For having an opinion.
My job is my life, love AND religion.”
Until the day you fire me,
Wearing that same fake smile
You wore when you hired me.
The same day you gave me
This damn grey suit.
You can have it back
You wrinkled, lying, coke-addicted hack.
Put it on someone who doesn’t mind
Having their pockets lined
With your green-backed version of morality,
And stuffed-shirt, horse-shit formalities.
Because this ass is too expensive for you
Unless, of course, this time
You think you can afford the truth.