White Collar Blues
I thought the office jobs were just until
I made it as a writer. Hoo ha. Here
I am, 20 years later, no inch nearer
to any goal except the famous hill
Iím almost over. What the hell. I
write in the evenings, and I beg to state
that at transcribing doctors Iím first rateó
medical words, a marketable skill.
And if I take a sour look at my friends
who've won the prizes I once hoped to win,
if I'm at odds with literary trendsó
well, like my betters, I can wink and grin
at my defeats. When all illusion ends,
desire of greatness was a godlike sin.
The Price of Everything, The Edwin Mellen
Press, © 2001. Originally printed in The
Reprinted by permission of the author.