I am sitting here
at this cafe
at an outside table
writing this poem
and staring at a
beautiful black
Jaguar
parked not ten feet away
I know very little
about cars
and I don’t care much
for them
but it’s strange
what this Jaguar
is doing to me
I want it
on a certain gut level
but I also know
what it would cost me
to possess it
and that price is too high
I am not speaking of money here
I’m referring rather
to billable hours
I need to be
writing legal briefs
right now
instead of
this brief poem
Unless, of course
all of my
faithful readers
rise up
ante up
and wire the cash directly to
the “Robert Bruce Jaguar Fund”
c/o National Bank of Zurich
numbered account to follow…
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