Saturday, November 15, 2008


With the Tough Economic Times
Our Nation is facing
Prostitution might seem like
An easy way out.
Yes, my pocketbook has been
Hit hard, but I cannot say
That I sold myself to make
Ends meet.
I took a mortgage out on
Angelic Beauty and Truth,
Held a yard sale
And let my Best Self go to the highest bidder.
Truth seemed too difficult to face,
Love too intimidating to appreciate.
Where an outsider might have
Seen a man blessed with a woman
Who would never do him wrong,
I looked in the mirror and thought I saw
Happiness behind me.
I took the “profit” and ran
Like a child through a shopping mall
Snatching up anything I thought
Could offer me a glimmer of hope,
Some serene distraction and some
Holy answer to every dilemma I could
Conjure- sod
For the greener grass from
The Other Yard.
At first infant blades sprung
Up verdisimo. It seemed the instant
Gratification of drops both rain and tear
Would be the solution I craved.
But like a boy from Chicago
Ought to have anticipated, the seasons changed.
Even plants of the deepest root fade at
Winter’s advance. Where was my foresight?
Of course the green gave way to
Dull stinking brown,
Leaving nothing but a hunk
Of mildewed carpet, rotting and cold
Under heaps of filthy snow.
No matter how high I turn up the heat
My skin still trembles under the cutting
Of a sharp, chill wind blasting steadily through
The hole of my mistake.
I used to be the kind of person
Who when asked what his greatest regret was,
Would proudly proclaim
With great big chip-on-his-shoulder-logic
And bravado that I had no regrets.
That every choice I’d made, every decision,
Shaped the Man that I Was.
Those, of course, are the words of a boy.
The only thing on my shoulder
Now is a draped blanket, a feeble attempt
To secure some warmth while staring out the window
At the dead lawn. Somewhere in the faint
Reflection on the glass I’m sure that I can see
Happiness behind me.

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