He was, to be sure, very impressive indeed.
Not so much someone on his way
As much as one who had truly arrived:
Sleek, self-assured, possessing the calm of one
Who fully understands just how powerful he is,
One who has not embraced the company culture
As much as self-immersed in it,
To the point where it has so permeated his structure
That is hard to tell where he begins and it ends.
And yet, there is something unsettling there:
The odd non sequiturs, disturbing enough
In their utter and unconscious wrong-headedness,
But even more so in the motorized, perfunctory method of their delivery,
As if it were obvious that it is we who clearly must be incorrect.
Some three hours of drive time away, past any number
Of Holiday Inn Expresses and faded Catskill resorts,
A handful of people carrying standard-issue banker’s boxes
Containing the detritus of twenty or thirty years of work
Exit the vestigial office the company maintains in its birthplace
(Only there as a nod to history, a sop to the locals and legislators.)
We hate to lose good people, the HR person who drove up for the occasion
Intones solemnly to a handful of reporters slouching in folding chairs
Scattered about a small, Seventies-wood-paneled conference room,
But there are certain market inefficiencies at work,
International incidents, other anomalies the forecasting tools
And business models couldn’t have foreseen.
And as he speaks, one of the newly superfluous
Points her car homeward, crossing the sluggish, ice-clogged Susquehanna
Over a bridge commemorating a giant of cash registers and calculators.