Jesse Popp |
Affluence arrives copied and pasted
in suits and their ties, not quite adjacent
to our modest lives. Exhibiting patience
to stifle a sigh, she to me, “watch the wasted?”
“Not my speed” -spoke I – “not in the faintest.”
The truth:
Attendees of fortune and greater renown,
playboys, sportifs soon, founders of towns,
with too large a portion but too little to endow,
in dress so masculine, I can’t be around;
fear of comparison became thinking aloud:
“four hundred rich men
in trousers
under the tent
pining to spend tens
of thousands
at the event
wine, majesty, Mexico
numbered sticks and trench coats
under the tent
I do not belong
of what they spend
within such a throng
I won’t make a cent
laborious dawn
among rich men
I do not belong”
To observe such a venue is not to embrace it,
nor is it to argue that one must erase it.
I must bid it adieu in order to face it,
and find somewhere new to be not complacent;
though rich men’ll sue to keep us behind paces.
The truth:
Any difference they make pales in relation
to your money they’ll take on their won vacation.
Forget being saved – a paradise destination;
to reach God they’ll pay to make heaven their nation,
preach humility in vain and explicit ostentation.
“five hundred rich men
in trousers
under the tent
are spending hundreds
of thousands
at this event
capital, status, Pisa, and Rome
auction bids and sport coats
under the tent
I do not belong
of what they spend
within such a throng
I shan’t make a cent
laborious dawn
among opulence
I do not belong”
Spoken again to make clear my departure,
a perk of a head led to my marching harder.
“Nay,” they pled, “what’s with thy disorder?”
“Well, “ I said, “to be concise and hence shorter-
I fear these men.” They grinned and then chortled.
The truth:
I cannot stand to make believe I am a man again.
A suit and tie are merely playthings used to help pretend
that I’m not the way I really am. But now, instead,
I’ll fade to gray, wait, and stay within displacement.
Here it’s safe to simply lay until I have to face death.
six hundred rich men
are cowards
under the tent
they’ve spent hundreds
of thousands
at this event
delusion, fantasy, Kokomo
American dreamers’ hearts broke
under the tent
I do not belong
of what they spent
within such a throng
I won’t make a cent
or a dime off these dongs
among rich men
I do not belong