THE OXYGEN TANK
History’s hamper
was full of filth.
Every day you
washed its clothes.
That one great touch
the world should know--
you paid a friend in
abject need $20,000
to care for your cats
when you passed away.
God, that was a cool move.
A satin angel tossing
wads of major bills
out windows of
your slow, old Olds.
You’d blow on cash
with courses set for landing
at poverty’s naked feet.
Drive off in fishing nets
of have--spread its pearls
like oxygen tanks
for drowning kids.
Never turning back to see
if grateful could express itself
or compromise its dignity.


- Janet I. Buck
 

to Janet          to Moongate