Just before dark, restless minds roam,
and bodies lose accountability in a gritty flux of energy.
The tale of man, yet no different from that of a corporation.
An untampable force, it raged throughout the years,
unwilling to reconcile with the inevitable signs of its decay,
since no head would admit a lapse in consciousness;
believing instead, salvation was always a buck away.
A journey of turmoil, or a suit’s game unveiled
nature — man’s subtler echo — and long-restrained humility.
Fidgety investors sought a buyer to leverage their displeasure,
and heroically remodel it into a salable commodity.
Along came Polly the poodle!
No longer chasing Lucifer’s femur,
she sought to charm her way to finer treats.
To some, a three-headed, four-legged friend was just the remedy,
just what was needed to enhance the fortunes of an ailing company;
But it took so long to zenith, not only dollars were lost:
Many fell asleep and forgot the crux of the tale.
Shaking their heads in the light of day,
they vaguely recalled a three-headed pooch
but dared speak of it, lest they be written off as fools.
Who would believe poodles promising oodles of cash,
even if it was enough to resurrect a desperate portfolio?
Exactly which sane being would be so rash?
Ah, but the day was waning and night was falling,
over the world as we know it,
consciousness receding with a yawn.
Those who awoke with their pockets empty
tugged on the linty lightness and wondered:
“Where has all the money gone?”
That, they might have asked;
but for fear they’d only dreamt their riches,
blinked and silently faced the dawn.
If only they’d kept their eyes open a smidgen,
they might’ve dodged the deceptive poodle.