Forgive us; we knew the grindstone too well
to believe cigar smoke and Rolexes
were worth coffee-stained years staring at “Dell”
and retirements spent unwinding time’s indexes.
We unfurled life along the football field
and read it in crumpled notes, and we let
back-of-taxi-cab oratories yield
meaning that we scooped with butterfly nets.
We waded in thoughts that danced in moonlit
windows on nights that bent time’s prison bars.
We ferried meaning ’cross conscious rivulets.
With toothy grins we held life in our arms.
But now I shak’ly give my life to greed
because if I’m not fruit, who needs my seed?