Free Poem in Hard Times
In honor of the Bush depression I’m giving this poem away free,
cutting back on the number of people I smart bomb today,
walking instead of taking the Hummer to the rapture.
In honor of the Bush depression I’m wearing a smile on my face
for all the dough I didn’t throw in the leaky 401K bucket,
but used instead to see the world and educate my children.
In honor of the Bush depression I’m offering discounted
poetry classes for investment bankers; we’ll get naked and
howl at Ginsberg’s ghost, smear junk-bond jello on our privates.
In honor of the Bush depression I’m refusing to be quantified,
spending time instead of dollars, measuring value in breaths,
trading on the exchange of love and imagination.
In honor of the Bush depression I’ll keep driving my old Toyota.
Her name is Betty and she smells like years of kids’ breakfasts,
but she’s cheap to fill and fix, and fits like a soft shoe.
In honor of the Bush depression I won’t demand a bailout,
I’ll put in a winter planting of kale and squash,
I’ll reuse plastic and wipe with the foreclosure notice.
In honor of the Bush depression I refuse to be depressed.
The sun still shines, the cat still purrs, poetry remains
free as ever, still worth more than Lehman Brothers.