Success, n.   The one unpardonable sin against
                        one’s fellows.
                                     --Ambrose Bierce (1842-?1914)
                                        The Devil’s Dictionary
 

O dear Mr. Prosperous, I know
That broads will chase you if you’ve got the dough,
And there’s nothing in our constitution
That says that marriage cannot be prostitution.

And who am I to say that they don’t love you?
They blow trumpets joyfully above you,
You’re sixty and a multimillionaire,
And she’s twenty--so sweet and fair.

Yes, in exchange for things you both treasure
She’ll give you many hours of pleasure,
Good poetry, good art, good entertainment,
And maybe some celestial attainment.

But I don’t trust those kisses and caresses,
And your sweet wife before the world undresses,
And I would never want to be remembered
As this society’s most honorable member.

The laurels, the awards, the empty cheers,
The friends, the parties that you give each year,
All the hypocrisy, all the politeness, all the games,
All the publicity that glorifies your name.

No, frankly, for your fame I do not care,
Nor for your wife so sweet and so fair,
When you’re dead, she’ll enjoy your dough,
And as for friends, they seem to come and go.
 

                                                            August 15, 1989
                                                        --Alexander Shaumyan