The Rub
I tried civility
at first,
but it didn’t
take,
so I took my
no good prospects
to India,
enslaved a slue
of child workers
to manufacture smog
on a bloody horizon,
having them work
ninety hour weeks
making all of the niceties
my heart desired
in exchange for canvas
shoes.
No matter the
wealth I amassed
or crazy sex
orgies I orchestrated
in my Hindu
Xanadu,
I could never look
on anything I possessed
with such awe as
those little Brown
boys looked at
their canvas shoes.
I guess that’s
the rub.
#330
