I never meant the man a lot of harm
Except when his sharp elbows sharply struck
An unoffending neighbor, a sitting duck
For the meanest weasel on the farm.
He had to push mercilessly to seize
All the rewards he saw in professional life,
And careless colleagues felt his hidden knife
Before they knew about his ugly disease.
He sought to tower over all around
Wearing those stealthy elevator shoes,
And hoped his fame would lead the evening news
As he trampled all his competition down.
So now there he is–look, shade your eyes–
Atop the imperial dungheap, telling lies.
– R.W. Haynes