"we're a family business."
they smile warmly, as you sign away 
your time for writing escapes
to work for someone's dream.

"we're a family business,"
they cheer loudly, raising to you
an ice cold beer you won't finish,
to your valuable contributions.

"we're a family business,"
they say proudly, handing over
burnished brass trophies to those
who cried while doing overtime.

"we're a family business,"
they reply graciously, when asked
how long their doors will be open 
to half-truths and excuses.

"we're a family business,"
they say sadly, pink slip in hand.
your eyes begin to burn.
"you understand."

and as years drain away into a single email,
and the skyscrapers begin to look taller,
curbside, you sit. and smile.