Song

I make the drive, walk the corporate walk,

To do what I must and give what I got.

I turn the chrome knob and I fill my slot.

I talk and I joke, a regular guy

I input and output and rarely ask why.

It's pasta and wine at home in my flat.

It's voice mail and e-mail, then feed the stray cat.

Sometimes I go out and chat up the girls.

Some want to tango, some manage a smile.

Some come home and have safe sex for a while.

My sweet IRA, my 401-k,

Let me buy tickets to games, to a play—

I go with the gang and don't get involved.

I fly to St. Croix and stare at the sea.

I travel first class. No day-tripper me.

My stocks are diverse to ride out the storm.

I buy what is solid, hew to the norm.

My portfolio teaches how I should vote.

I'm cautious in style, suspicious of trend.

When weather turns foul I always come in.

This is my choice, my new BoBo life.

A two-career marriage, the tension, the strife—

It didn't last long. We parted as pals.

She got the condo. I got the car.

She's a savvy, cool chick. She'll go really far.

My folks live upstate, where I misspent my youth.

They're tight with their money and long in the tooth.

When I visit it's hard with so little to say.

They miss me, they claim. They worry. They pray.

But they seem relieved when I drive away.