Poetry

Prospects

an old, familiar song in which a miner’s key

Photo by Leiada Krozjhen on Unsplash

The prospect of gold drives a fool
insane.
One cannot foretell what the mines
contain.
A glint, and I loaded my mule
in vain,
devising pyritic designs

We act on the details our minds
perceive,
extrapolate stories we just
believe.
Emotional lodes of all kinds
deceive.
Hotel California or Bust.

I saw what I wanted to see
again,
naive in the way I had been
back then.
A miracle in the debris;
amen.
Centrifugal levels of spin.

A karat and stick moved the cart
I built.
The payload, a payday of soil
and silt.
I carry it inside my heart
as gilt.
I’m heading to Texas for oil.