Sonnet 401k Poem by Morgan Michaels

Star, my star, my own born star
That you were never the star of money
I think is rather clear
Because I haven't any
And from the proof deduce the principle;
Nor do you now or have you ever shone me
The green gleam of fame:
Nobody knows me. I shall go out like a flame
Deprived of oxygen. True and not funny;
And you are so small, pal-
I could practically slip you in my pocket.
What are you good for? If I could get to you
Borne on a wish or a rocket
Would you say stay or go?