invest
in the crick between your greedy little fingers
in your old, brittle paw;
invest your age, your wealth, your body,
shove your soul
into the eye of a tarnished brass needle.
where else to find fortune,
where else to cull serendipity?
the only treasures
belong to previous generations;
the only security
was gleaned from overtired fields
by your father's father's father.
what, you don't own a tractor any more?
force your future
to fit the shape of modern discomfort,
mild dialectics, sclerotic finance or
mothballed discipline.