Getting Away With Life

I pretty much got away with it.

I didn’t become what the slave owners wanted.

Twenty years in Mexico, drinking and writing poetry.

I’ll buy that for a dollar!

The end might not be pretty, 

but that’s true for billionaires.

I’m happily poor, unvaccinated, unbrainwashed,

dinking coffee, smoking, writing this.

There are still some of us left in the world.

Others walk by me in some sort of fog.

And so it goes.