Poetry | Fred Aiken Writing

time trouble is perhaps one of the worst things that can happen to you in life,

when you’re confronted by the crackling of springs and clicks

composed in such a manner,

taunt, spinning, in that repetitive manner that makes everything look exactly alike,

while telling yourself it’s all different,

your making something unique,

but time makes everyone repetitive and droning,

because nothing has never come from nothing,

unless you’re talking about that knight fork that came outta nowhere

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

Fred Aiken Writing