Corrupting the Gift

What troubles me is the lack of empathy.
What dire straights can make you see
The clock ticking, tense as drawn bow?

Perched high, the winners (you and me specifically)
Must make the moral choice.
Be giants, hearts large.

Our bounty fills closets and houses and pods,
Is staggering, world-around.
We covet behemoth dwellings full with wasted space.

Our fatness, a sickness
(not of genes, of mind).
Our jaws working the slicks and fakes down our throats to numbness.

The dump is tragic.
The towers of trash make me blush without a smile.
They should you, too.

What do you do when you are part of the problem?
One, see.
Two, accept.
Three to infinity, change.

Reverse the contraction of your blood pumper and make
Stone facades to sheer.
Love all people.
Like a few, too.

Make the hard, heart-choice.
Think bigger, all Earth, all Universe.
Or it ends here—swollen, lazy, careless, selfish. Desolate.
With no room at the inn for those that lack paper wallets.

But meanwhile, outside the inn,
Multitudes disillusioned.
Multitudes realize:

Our lives? The Earth? The air? The water?
Gift, gift, gift, gift.
Food sprouted from fertile ground?
Delicious gift.

Did you earn a single one?
Your birth, your breath? The seed that feeds?
Bounty for all, for you, for me?
It’s free.

Beware the illusions.
Beware your special status as earner.
You’ve earned only money to pay,
Money to pray to things created from gifts.

That’s why it’s not working.
Not supposed to sell a gift.
Why don’t you listen to your Mother?
She speaks in logic and love.

Wailing, 40 trillion in debt!
But to who? To whom may I repay this?
The Universe, that’s who.
And it doesn’t want your money.


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