I used to worry a lot about money
(and think about killing myself), too,
but today I'm rich! All because I took
an enormous pill that made me
a financial genius and now I know
how to do all sorts of money things like
a pro but better than a pro (a queen!):
speculate on futures, for example,
and manage risk. Very lucrative stuff.
Did you know if you Google "APR,"
you get stuff about the Annual Percentage Rate—
not American Poetry Review? Well, now I do,
and I can make the most incredible spreadsheet:
when I push the mystery button
(which is no longer a mystery to me!)
money shoots out of it, then my eyes,
which no longer see colors other than
green but bees do that, too, right?
And they seem happy enough
in their heavy bodies.
In the Palace Full of Passed-out People
Brainwaves of the big ones have slumped
down on a bench—out of the rain, for now
(as the planet pivots, eventually all its faces
get the hose—whatever the weather/socks).
A security guard gently jostles their shoulders
for he's asleep, too, and one of his arms just
fell off. Hey, guard: you gonna eat that?
Brainwaves of the little ones are getting
scrambled when they jump the fence—taser
zapped!—a rodeo clown chases them into
a pen and waits for them to walk. By then
they could be a security guard, or lucky
to be so. Chubby in a uniform,
hollowed by glycemic rot.