The Nonchalants
The nonchalants have taken over the world
One half hearted shrug,
One distracted sigh at a time.
They live in lemon yellow mansions
Stanchioned by pilings driven into bedrock
On golden coasts ravaged by maelstroms.
All around them a town lies in ruins.
After yet another cataclysm passes
They are the last ones left standing,
Sipping wine, trying on floppy hats,
Nibbling crab gruyere hors d'oeuvres,
While idly chatting about news they’ve heard
Of federal disaster relief corruption.
They barely glance at velvet sunsets
Picture framed by bay side verandas.
The photos get posted on Instagram:
#FloridaStrong #InThisTogether.
Jet engine whir of whole house generators
Drowns out the wail of beach wanderers
Trying to find everything they once owned
Sandbags stacked on the sidewalks
Prompt them to post
About “our resilient little community”
On all the social medias
Followed by a series of selfies taken with hubby
From the balcony of the Ritz Carlton in Orlando.
They turn fathers against their children.
As a practiced act of self-regulation
They stifle yawns when you tell
Them about student loans
And rising insurance premiums.
The origin story goes:
Someone got a hand out,
Another one cheated.
But when they were young
They didn’t get anyone’s help
They did it all alone
(as far as they recall).
In life there are winners and losers
That’s the name of the game.
In the end all you see is a scoreboard
As the clock ticks down to zero.
Everything they have has been earned
Every win fully deserved
Luxury is a referendum on a life well lived
Poverty is the purgatory of the merciful god.
Even near death they remain nonplussed
It’s just another distant event they saw coming
From a million miles away
When the rabble wasn’t paying attention
Like cryptocurrency or soybean futures
The only difference being death is still a long way off
And why wouldn't it be?
They’ve never been wrong before.
Besides, it would only interfere with plans
Next month at the elegant Broadmoor.
No comments:
Post a Comment