My Poetry Year: Entry #21

In which Your Humble Blogger suggests a picture of wealth that's a little less glorious than the ones popping up all over the Internet today:

"Wealth: In Pictures"

In one, a falcon lands
And is so humbled by
His Good Sir's radiance
That it can't bring itself
To draw blood. In the next,
Mums do nothing but pale.
The neighbors would approve,
Though they'd lack suggestions
For what should be done when
The wallpaper turns in
Yellow curls underneath.
But it's fine. Now landscapes
Are what you have to have.
You think you might like one
Just above the mantel.
But you've already hung
So many pieces that
You've covered the mirrors
As well as all the doors.

* * *

Looking at this one today, I can see how it just as easily could have become a story, an almost fairytale one, instead. (And I mean a Ludmilla Petrushevskaya-like fairytale, not royal wedding-like fairytale, heh heh.) I remember it being triggered by the image that ends the poem: a rich person in a land full of other rich people has amassed such a collection of fine paintings depicting the outside world that he or she has covered all of the doors and windows leading outside for lack of space to hang them. Actually, now that I typed that, maybe it would work as a short story. Hmm....

Inspired by discussions of the retirement communities that have popped up in places like Arizona and Florida, where people who are well-off go citing the natural beauty around the community, only to spend the majority of their time once there sealed up in buildings or, if outdoors, playing golf on courses covered in Astroturf.