When he opened the account
we called him Jonas,
cheques and balances
as gold cuff links
without a scratch.
The business thrived,
he hired and fired without
conscience or remorse,
and the ties that bind
were locked
in stocks and bonds.
We gasped and called him Daniel
when he gave it all away,
save the dollar that he placed
in a child's outstretched hand,
saying invest as seeds
in those who thirst
and hunger,
one fine day
they'll bless you
with a poem
expressed as thanks,
moving you to toss aside
the finest pearls
as though brown nuts
that squirrels alone can treasure.
It made no sense:
the words, the deeds,
why he lives in cold damp hostels
and gives his kisses to the poor.
Perhaps he saw a vision
of his death
amid the mansions
and the yachts,
the loneliness
of beach front homes
when there's no one to see
the sunset with.
Or maybe Wall Street lions
took the life of someone dear
and he takes a second chance
to get it right, to make amends,
to pet the heads of puppies
he once shook his gilded
briefcase at.
I asked you
where you were going
and you replied
I need to be out in the world
to write about the world
and I thought to follow you
but checked myself in time.
I've no right to pry
and spy at what you see --
bring a coloured binder with you
and jot down what you feel --
I'll be at home, on the couch,
watching English football
and eating pickles from the jar:
We'll hear it all --
the curses, the cheers,
the upheaval of the crowds
and their disenchantment,
and you'll nail the header
at the final whistle,
the man shooting heroin
at sidewalk level
that brings forth a gasp,
the punctured veins
that keep things
from being forgotten,
tied at nil.
Here she is again,
and there, below the Nike ad
and between the Gap and
Chrysler Dodge and we see
the airbrush and the paint
and wonder if she eats at all,
if she spreads her legs at night,
if she knows the price
of what she sells
and the cost of getting high.
Paris runways beckon,
leafing through the Cosmo'
as we spot her one last time.
We flip a coin and call:
Heads, she's cast by Hollywood
and it's Josephine in lights.
Tails, she's doing tricks for less
and we'll never know her name.
You're not angry anymore
and I'm glad.
We sat and talked and no spats
of venom spewed in my direction.
But venom's a jaded word to use
and I take it back.
You had your reasons to assail
and strike me down
with burning coals,
blocks of which still glow
when you rise to pay for meals
and ask where restrooms are.
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