In These Times

Hindsight

is really something

with its unerring wisdom

forever on the hips

hauled around

like so much lading

though happier tossed off

without settling the bill.

You carry yours on a chain

in a back-pocket wallet,

mine’s stowed

behind a gold crown,

left mandibular rear molar,

which is how my family

will know me when I’m gone.

We did not anticipate

the cutting

cunning of enemies,

the force of greed.

Our money’s no good now,

our children dispossessed:

We did not account for this.

For Grapeling’s prompt to the Real Toads: What Fresh Hell Is This?