Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Wall Street to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
I came to Wall Street as an intern with a borrowed suit and tie,
And a subway card, a sandwich, and a dream that reached the sky.
They sent me for the coffee and they sent me for the mail,
And they laughed when I misspelled a word and blushed a shade of pale.
I stayed behind at midnight reading reports beneath the lamp,
While the city hummed below me like a friendly, sleepless camp.
One morning at the meeting, when the partners had no clue,
I raised my hand and, trembling, said, I think I know what's true.
The numbers I had studied showed a crack they didn't see,
And the room went very quiet, then the partners turned to me.
So wear your borrowed suit with pride and study through the night,
For the smallest desk on Wall Street can still hold the brightest light.
Poet of Wall Street · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
A young intern starts at the bottom, fetching coffee, and earns respect by doing the homework nobody else did.
The intern arrives “with a borrowed suit and tie” and “a dream that reached the sky.” They send the intern “for the coffee” and “for the mail,” and laugh at a spelling mistake. At midnight the intern reads “reports beneath the lamp.”
At a meeting where “the partners had no clue,” the intern says, trembling, “I think I know what's true.” The numbers “showed a crack they didn't see,” and “the partners turned to me.” The lesson: “the smallest desk on Wall Street can still hold the brightest light.”