The Secret Life of Gregory Driver

January 26, 2010
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Mr. Driver opens the doors
To his shoe store.
After the morning meeting,
Back in the office to manage the books
And write up paychecks,
…Friday of course.
After lunch he braves the floor
To make some sales,
And keep an eye on his employees.
He sees a customer
And off the tan shelf,
He takes the newly designed
Jet-black shoes.
He knows exactly what
This suited-up man wants;
And he sells him the $300 pair
On and on Mr. Driver goes…
Selling and selling and selling…
To the rich--
The black business shoes
And black socks
Fly off the shelves all day
While the white tennis shoes,
And white socks,
Go to the spoiled children.
Closing time comes
And Mr. Driver closes
And locks the doors.

Gregory taps the button on his keys
To his one month old Audi.
He feels just like Jason Statham in
The Transporter, weaving in and out
Of traffic on his way home.
The red traffic signal turns green,
And Gregory revs the engine
And takes off,
Zooming home,
Toward his apartment complex
On his thirty-eight minute commute.
Gregory arrives at his complex
And stops at the white gate,
The bored-out-of-his-mind gatekeeper
…Waves Gregory through
Who continues to his parking spot
And up to the top floor
Into his apartment.

Greg walks in the door
And immediately sees,
The blinking red light
On his answering machine
He missed seven messages today…
Message one, garbage
Two, garbage
Tree, garbage…
Stupid salesmen don’t know
When to quit;
They’re getting nothing out of this guy.
Greg tosses his keys and wallet
On the tan countertop
In the kitchen,
And opens the fridge
He warms up the leftover pizza
From last night and eats it
While watching TV
On his black leather couch.
After dinner he sits and stares blankly
Out his park-view window…
Then he remembers it’s the first
Of the month.
He takes out his checkbook,
And donates half of last month’s salary,
To family’s that can’t afford,
To buy shoes from his store.

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