Possessions as an I.D.: A Poem
Some folks live in colorful cardboard box
buried under pile of items of their choice
treating it like their cherished Fort Knox
acting as if their Toyota is Rolls Royce.
Who they are is more like who they are not
money patching up every self-image hole
with respect not earned but only bought
at some flea markets feeding their soul.
There are some rare ones who seem to have it all
smartness and class and money as for a topping
and only envy would try to portray them small
for their I.D. was not obtained by shopping.
But there are so many more of that first kind
draining our patience with home inventories
or they make you wish to be deaf and blind
with their new stuff and all boasting stories.
If only a bulldozer would smash that cardboard box
with all that phony importance expressed in cash
with someone pissed to kick them out of socks
and tell them how their treasure is but trash.