In All Seriousness

In All Seriousness

(“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 5:3)

I had a notion long ago, like an ocean full of logic,
that God needed informants, sleuths to testify of
loose gears in the machinery to management. I dearly loved
the agency,
the sanity I thought was saintly. I never clicked my tongue
or filed a report but I plainly
explained every missed question on the test;
and wondered how they test-taker graduated with all the rest.

Some of them became teachers, these ones with private files
printed upside down upon my desk. I confess I read them, if
not to the rest, to myself. Some of them led millions,
these ones dressed with waterproof ties, shades over their eyes,
while I thought my casual garb was more naked than theirs,
covering less than theirs; showing more of my bleached ankles
and skinny wrists. My mind was insulated just as well,
buried deeper than the death knell. My tears distracted the
prying eyes.

When did I believe I was richer than I had begun? What piles
of treasure,
uncalled-for leisure on mountain slopes and summer isles
had I amassed? My balance is higher, square footage greater,
new car faster; while I’ve read more books, learned more tunes,
bought more songs, and composed my poetry better than
I’ve composed myself. Because,

In all seriousness,

The nightmares I walked off on high school nights
are the same dreams I hide because old men should be
over them by now.