if it seems as if I’m distracted,
then it is,
because I’m playing chess,
so I’m not paying attention to form, rhyme, or diction,
so please don’t mind me
it’s best to tell people you’re poet to explain why you’re bank account
has so many zeros in it,
rather than tell them you’re a full-time, fiat-mining machine that works on autopilot
contributing minimum to zilch to an imaginary 401(k)
while listening to floating talking heads of the television that say buy,buy,buy,buy
into the reams of madness stacked high and overflowing from the binder
of some poor fellow’s portfolio that nets him millions, maybe billions,
once you account for inflation,
deep breath,
and deflation,
just don’t forget that being a poet is a tax write-off,
or at least that’s what my tax attorney that lives under the bridge told me
one of my goals is to mash up as many candy bars as possible,
until I can’t tell where the Butterfinger begins
and the Hersey bar ends,
and then I’m going to wrap it up,
re-brand it,
and sell it
as the Bar of Monsters
with the hope that someone tries it, likes it,
and makes their own copycat version of it with the wrong candies
Fred Aiken Writing 