Newsflash

Strode straight in beneath the lit,
Iconic ticker tape of what's crashed
And what side goes best with Turkey
Into the tall, iconic building of 
Childhood scribble dreams
With all the greats and the near-greats
Hanging in gilt frames on the gilt walls.

Where were the usual doubts? The nerves?
The ever-persistent sound of 
"You don't belong here" hiding?
The sounds of years of undersold
And underpaid? 

Under the Christmas wreath and up
The golden elevator, thirteenth floor,
An escalator to the room where hundreds came
To think before
To sell yourself in a short time
As we all do, as best we can.

And through the din of noise that spun
Inside the walls of the best of the best,
"I belong here" strongly rung
And calmly rose above the rest.