Rumors confirm
what newspapers hinted:
Boy-on-the-block becomes
heir to a fortune
that exceeds what we'll earn
in 11 lifetimes.
Assets float him above
the rigors of rations:
Shoes meant to last until
basketball season,
allowances earmarked
three weeks in advance,
the thin purse that dictates
it has to be Greyhound.
Now stocks erase plans
for lawn-mowing schemes,
make superfluous the need
for busboy auditions,
render irrelevant
his GPA.
My garden gate bangs
and I tilt my visor,
crouch for a vantage
of this corduroy shuffle.
Let me survey
the impact of a windfall,
catch the strut
of a millionaire.
Shoshauna Shy turns to poetry to live moments more than once. She likes spending time with books, trees, cats, chocolate and her husband, preferably all at the same time.
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