I meditate on money as I make
my way to work. I wonder how much stuff
a body needs in middle age, to break
away from office chores. Is it enough
invested in a cottage, managed funds,
a quarter million growing tax-deferred?
Can 55 survive on seven hundred
thousand ones, if Cal will eat a third?
I ponder, after working four years more
than twenty in an accidental field:
how many minutes there remain for me.
I didn’t even mean a quarter score
but we matured in step and it appealed,
until today’s retiring fantasy.
I’ve known a lot of people who are rich
as much from when they lived as how they worked
and saved. They’re fortunate. They rode a stitch
in time – extracting gold while trouble lurked.
The nation had 200 years when will
could conquer and when diligence could win.
But we’re exhausted now, and we’ve a bill
we cannot pay for all we wasted then.
I watch these folks endeavoring to hold
their wealth, and pass it to their kids untaxed,
for they’re advised that’s sensible to do.
I say they’re incorrect – they should be bold
enough to spend. It’s time that they relaxed,
and let their children sweat and triumph too.