A Marxist interpretation of rivers
       

I like money. I mean I like
not thinking about money.
But the only way to not think
about money is to have money,
and the only way to have money
is to think about money. So I mean
I like thinking about money
flowing and opening
into a wide delta at the edge
of the city, where people
bring their monster trucks
and handcarts, broken legs
and leprosy, their sky-hooks
and baldness, their fear
that recycling's wasting
more energy than it's saving
and their wishes
that their children grow up
and go to yoga the day
they turn 90
and wade in, the all of them
who are the all of us, drinking
and splashing wealth around,
washing and kissing, joking
and toking and provoking
unparalleled games of tag,
making cigarettes
and smoking love and basking
and S & Ming in it, even after
the sun goes down. Which is never
if you run fast enough,
if you consider the world
a place you might as well
spruce up and call home.

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Copyright © 2016 Bob Hicok All rights reserved
from Conduit
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