The death of Richard Cory, shocking sad,
Is legend now, although only a fiction;
With manifest supremacy, he had
Taken his life so we might pay attention
To what it means to live in emptiness,
And even now that takes a dark complexion,
Best understood with reference to Caste,
Where factually there lies a deep connection.
His death would fit that glitch of suicide,
At first statistically a mystery
Until discovered that they coincide
With a spell unique to our country,
Where a small subset of those who were white
Lost benefits long-held supremacy
And privileges they clung to as by right
Fell into limbo with some urgency,
Injustices now coming to the light
Creating pockets of ascendancy
By those rising from histories of blight
From being bottom Caste, as destiny
It seemed at last would messily realign
The often deadly ranks we misassign;
Our worship of men like Richard Cory
Reloads the fatal gun of hierarchy.
