My boss’s boss lives a few floors above.
He’s a nice enough guy, we can talk sports
but he’s used to sitting in the skybox
while I’m in the cheap seats.
His boss lives in the penthouse
with an express elevator
to a private multicar garage
but I can tell when he’s home
because there’s a leak in his toilet
he won’t fix since he isn’t bothered
but the mess gets bigger the further it flows,
raining upon the poor and middle class alike.
There’s only one thing trickling down,
dear reader, and it ain’t money.
(Two weeks until Election Day. Vote early, if you can.)