It was meant to be my escape from poverty,
and it is,
but they didn’t tell me that it would come at a price.
The bank balance is fat,
and I have a waistline to match,
but I should’ve known what grave sacrifices
I’d be forced to make.
I have a comprehensive medical aid,
drive a German sedan,
but the echo of my own voice amplifies
the emptiness.
The corner office is now mine,
a table reserved at my favourite restaurant,
but no one told me just how lonely it is at the top.
I have all the material wealth I desire,
but long-office hours have destroyed my marriage.
I have the status and residential address to match,
but none that visit can I truly trust.