Collecting Art
June 17 2008


The very rich
do not brag about gas mileage
or wait in line.

They collect art.
They sniff wine.
They pronounce upon the relative merits
of domestic vs. imported
nannies.

They itch to drive,
the chauffeur crammed into the back seat
of the Masserati;
but can’t
because it wouldn’t do
for the help to sit idly by.

Peacocks roam the estate,
the dogs get walked
daily,
and towels touched once, then replaced.

Me, I’ve started with a garage sale masterpiece,
original frame.
It hangs above the sofa,
where the dog dozes noisily.
An island in a wild lake,
wind-whipped waves,
the sun breaking through.
There is room for a single tent,
a secluded beach,
one canoe.
My money is useless there.
The dog jerks
. . . chasing squirrels in his sleep.