The Tradeoff

The Tradeoff

 

I’ve never viewed the earth from on top

I’m not a satellite, an F-85, or God.

Just another right handed old man

cane in hand, garbage sifter after midnight.

Homeless in Havana Florida

waving at passers-by and dead people.

Jesus is cleaning our swamp

still waiting for his infidel wife to pass his way.

He smiles crookedly for she is barren, broken, and busted.

But a slight twitch of the face is noticed when he learns

she’s flying first class overnight to Trieste,

a small city of hope when all hope is gone.

If losing expectations is necessary for keeping ones’ soul

I’ll stay in the vulgarity of the valley holding what’s left

of a rich man’s dinner, smiling life is good today.