Once there was a hierarchy who lived a life of malarkey.
The essence of the malarkey was found in his conviction that all people were either in or out; saved or damned; chosen or not; called or snot; loved or rot. It was a lot of woe and foe, and because of that, he couldn’t just put it out there.
He knew that it wouldn’t work to say what you really thought when you thought so many people were below you.
So he lived in his own upper layer with care, and he kept quite mum about his in-or-out, either-or, odd-or-like- me, rich-or-poor.
Instead, he was so nice he’d greet you twice, if you looked good or had the lice.
Everyone was his best friend.
He loved the kids and their jokes and especially loved a freakin’ hoax.
He’d publicly agree with what he privately hated, that people said, not in red, but in his head, in bed — later.
It was a snarky, larky, malarkey hierarchy.
When he picked a wife — he picked one less accomplished than himself.
When he hired a partner — he hired one less qualified than himself.
When he met a wealthy man, he made him his best friend.
When he met a poor men, he made him his project.
It looked good, went well, for a while, crocodile — his woman, his compliment; his people, his success; his workers, his underlings; his rich and poor men, his rank-makers, his world, two-part, sweet and secretly tart.
And then it blew up.
His partner proved to be more competent than expected, his family less happy than required, his poor men less needy, his rich men too greedy, his saved too damned, his out, too freakin’ unacceptably in.
Things simply wouldn’t stay on the shelves he’d put them on. People got off of their leashes.They stopped minding. They exited their stations; they left their boxes. They rebelled!
So, he pulled rank.
He wrote it down.
It left the ground, and sailed — away.
In the end, even amends couldn’t save his long tossed friends that always were, his hidden ends.
Hier-arcing-ly, with lock-and-key, and you and me, snorklingly, he proved basically, just to be — a bunch of mal-lark-eeeeee!