Treasure Island

Jim Milks

(2/7/1966 / Boston)

Sign of the times


They sat around in the boardroom smoking their big cigars
“Gentlemen we have to save these bonuses of ours”
We need to tighten the belt, and cut the fat
Now it is time to step up to the bat

We have one with a family and a home
And one that lives alone
And if the family man ends up homeless
Well at least we saved our bonus

Well it is the sign of the times
When companies ask for money from their private jet
While the average person is on the street hustling for dimes
The bosses just sit around and just don’t understand things yet

© JPM 2/8/09

Submitted: Sunday, February 08, 2009
Edited: Sunday, February 08, 2009

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Sign of the times by Jim Milks )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. COPLA 84 INVOCATION: This Bad Guy World, T (no first name) Wignesan
  2. Left Behind, D.L. Aceves
  3. Mother Nature, Victor Cruickshank
  4. Mature Love, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  5. Homophones, Victor Cruickshank
  6. Time, Victor Cruickshank
  7. More Of The Different, John deVries
  8. Speak about love, hasmukh amathalal
  9. The Petrichor, Poet Akinwemimo Idris
  10. Its outcome, hasmukh amathalal

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]