Sunday, March 13, 2011

poem from the past I still like -- a true story


Mr. Roebuck upped and sold his shares
pretty early, having had it.

He lived the rest of his ninety years
modestly, in retirement.

Sniffing his garden's sensible airs,
marveling at his luck,

often he must have thought of Sears:
how Sears mucked on, poor cluck;

Sears making millions, millions! on his ashpit;
and Roebuck making...Roebuck.


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