Rebuked by the money that flows
Rebuked by the rates — Exchange, Jobless, Interest, Inflation —
just about every rate there is
Rebuked though he swore (unconvincingly, perhaps)
that he wanted to be part of the problem
As prophesied in the medicine cabinets of his relatives,
the day when the Mardi Gras parade marched
over his grave, when bill collectors called early and often
to say he doesn’t even deserve to feel as good as that
and all of creation sang out Give Us Barabbas!
arrived
Going out of business with both hands
Drowning while writing his great naval anthem
Ridiculing the dead as he died
Seeking in the vanity of vanity
something that nothing is
Each fleeting grace marked him a stranger to grace
even its enemy
Some days a shave and a shower
make it all seem less sinister
Some days the thunder whispers
that the darkness will turn inside out
Some days the lightning
outlines the ragged backs of angels