poems

Wealth of Misery

I know I can’t
have been conscious
When the birds pecked out my eyes,

But it seems that way now,
At diamond parties,
Where 24 carats tell such elegant lies.

“Oh dahling it was vile
out there on the rocks,
‘til I hacked
my way down to the jewel.

But the death of the birds
And the loss of my sight
were worth it, I swear,

And you’ll find that, too.”