this is not how it’s done.
this is not business as usual.
retirement is an illusion;
life is this, here, now.
the pain of the present can be counted
on to be capitalized: traded and
tucked into the pockets of those living
in penthouses above, outside of, time.
we say we want our freedom,
but we can’t handle it; we give
it away again and again to
the highest bidder, and we don’t
even get to see the profit margin:
it slinks off into the night like wet ink.