You march in good time for years
dark suit smartly pressed,
shirt starched stiff and
You work hard, do all the right things—
late nights and weekends at the office,
Chinese take-out in little boxes,
your body going soft.
Tennis at the club, golf lessons,
a few discreet affairs. A second home,
a red convertible, furs for her,
the best schools for the kids.
Still, you awaken one day and it’s gone.
Like a dream that seeks its own sad end,
you’re driving too fast past snowy fields