Rich

The crisis continues

The oligarchs continue their dirty work
Of destroying the country.

And yet the lights and heat still work.
The internet still connects.
The day of world wide protests
I spent at home playing cars and
At the playground sliding on the slides
Wet with snow melt.

The flicker is awake
Cackling in the holly tree
Drunk on decaying berry fruit
Like a Mardi Gras jester
On their prideful perp walk
In the dawn of Ash Wednesday.

They don't know,
Have no need of Social Security,
Are oblivious to the ongoing
Anxiety of the middle class.

The sun rises and I am privileged
To go to yoga class,
To visit my Chinese doctor
Drink herb tea full of strange sticks
Desiccated vegetation bitter on my tongue.

I shuffle my electronic values
From one digital container to another,
Preserving their imaginary worth.

Our freezer full of grass-fed beef,
Fresh water for now,
Packets full of seeds
And five raised beds ready to plant,
A fig and an Italian prune,

Volunteer apple and pear trees
Laden come late summer.

I am rich with time and air,
The love and joy of small children,
Rich with ritual:
Planting and nurturing and harvest,
Bird song and light.