You do not tell me
Of unique meanings
Like the contentment
Of conscience clear
Of offense.
I threw away
The cola can
And you scamper
To reclaim it
From some changing scenes:
Posh communities in Malibu
Opulence in Palos Verdes
Abundance in Jack in the Box
More abundance in Home Town Buffett
This last one where,
Like my folks back home,
You bet on good luck
And good omen
On first Fridays
And the Mondays of mercies
From some rotten relics.
I tell you: these stories
Of abandon and neglect
Are the same everywhere.
They butcher the body.
They singe the spirit.
They maim the mind.
They mortgage man,
All, but only the everyday man,
The ordinary, those who do not know
The falsities of food
Earned honestly
And to live differently
Other than
Being caught in a big lie.
I tell you, beggarman
On Avalon, our destinies
Are the same
And have intertwined
And the pot of gold
At rainbow's end will be ours
In the earnestness of our desires
To live and let live
To go on and flow on
And move on in these rivers
That we see and we do not see.
And we will swim and swim
And the Avalon will become
A joyous journey to springtimes.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili
Artesia, CA
Nov. 23, 2004
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