A dreambody
Abhors a mausoleum
No less than a vacuum
All that white marble
And nowhere to go
But at Wingspan today
Afraid I might get clipped
My dreambody soared aloft
Like Icarus in fact
Out over the Park
While Pete and his desk mates
Wrapped up the morning report
I sat at a conference table
And transcribed the Truth
Word for word exactly
What I had seen and heard
Floating high above
Manhattan island
Even though it was from
Another lifetime ago
* * * * * *
Note of explanation. I wrote this poem today when I went to meet my old friend PB for lunch. It was eerily familiar walking down the long white marble hallway in the lobby of the GM building, a mausoleum where I used to work for a few years myself. PB is still perched on a trading desk, although with another multi-strat a few floors downstairs called Wingspan. While he and the rest of the desk finished up their morning report, I cooled my heels in a conference room, reminisced about the olds days and wrote this poem.
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