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I used to do a lot of traveling in my job and people often thought that it was a glamorous lifestyle.

This poem reflects the reality. 

The Corporate Warriors  
 
The corporate warriors,
into battle you must fly,
high above the sleeping mortals,
across the dawn red sky.
 
Looking good in your pin stripe,
with your Church's leather shoes,
this game is all about winning,
you don't get paid much to lose.
 
You're obviously in the Club,
because you always board near the last,
your preference is a window seat,
and your points are growing fast.
 
You've got the fastest lap-top,
and the smallest mobile phone,
the days are non stop hustle,
the nights you're far from home.
 
You've got a car that picks you up
your hotel knows your name,
and there's your favorite strip joint,
where you nearly play the game.
 
But you can't look her in the eye,
because she is someone's daughter,
and now she's doing tricks for you,
that her mother never taught her.
 
This life should be full of glamour,
but you'd rather be safe at home,
and you're fed up with suitcase life,
and sleeping on your own.
 
You're tired of the alarm calls,
been too many before it's five,
and you're fed up with airline food,
and feeling half dead, half alive.
 
And you worry about your breath,
and your hair starting to grey,
with the other suits getting younger,
still keen and eager for the day.
 
But the battle has to go on,
and this won't be for evermore,
because one day you'll lose the blood lust,
to keep fighting your corporate war.

Copyright Allen Jesson 1999

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