Poverty

I never was really poor until now.

Now that I have that experience, 

I see what they were all talking about.

Poverty is painful, no doubt.

Now I’m just a poor poet, like so 

many before me.

At least, I’m in good company.

I’m glad it’s at the end of my life,

when misery is the norm.

I did what I wanted for most of my life,

if I failed I only have myself to blame.

I could have done something differently,

but I don’t know what that would be or

if it would have helped.

Maybe I could have been a famous, wealthy

actor, but look at what that biz is like now.

Should I have been a lawyer like my father?

There’s corruption there too, especially in

politics, it’s a joke don’t you know.

Instead I was a plumber, it worked for me well

for a long time…I could go anywhere and get

a job instantly…unfortunately, it didn’t make

me wealthy as it does for most now, because 

youths don’t want to work in the trades…they

do podcasts that make them millionaires…can’t 

argue with success.

Can’t argue with failure either…

can’t argue at all.

Reality doesn’t care what anyone thinks, it’s 

just there.

Old age, sickness and death is my future,

what I must face…at least I wasn’t a part of

the interminable degrading rat race.

Most of my friends are dead now anyway,

but, at least, I’m still able to pee.

I always wanted to end a poem with the word:

“Watermelon”

Like the rest of my life, if I didn’t succeed,

at least I was close.