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Poetry: Betrayal

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MR. POLITICALLY CORRECT

He is really nothing special,
Down deep feels it too, you know,
So he's learned to play the charmer
See how far the game can go.

His shoes are always shiny,
His suit pants nicely pressed,
His golf score breaks a ninety,
His very life seems blessed.

He flatters all the ladies,
He "yes, sirs" all he can,
Finds a way to flee the radar
When the feces hit the fan.

He knows to smile when needed,
Seems modest with his blush,
Feigns innocence to save his hide,
Maintains his Midas touch.

He's young and climbing upward,
He's old and scared to fall,
Friend or not, you can't trust him
When his back's against the wall.
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