Modern Man

That creature there,
They call him a modern man,
An apex in this cold digital age,
Prim and proper in razor obsidian ensemble,
Well groomed like an incubus,
And oxfords upon his draconic pads,

He breathes out asbestos and tungsten,
Toxic despite his magnetic allure,
He helped cultivate this concrete jungle,
Hunting furs in Wall Street,
He speaks in radio static,
Talking of profit margins and stocks,
Where his weighted feet fall,
Tarmac and franchises grow,

He’s an alpha male,
Whatever that means,
A man of means,
He and his friends bet on vagrants,
Can’t be winners without losers,
And doesn’t that just sound modern?

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