He intimated that he had
though never did he say so.
And what they call in television
a 'nicer', he would be
impeccably, conservatively dressed,
with matching body language
and a butterfly bow tie.
The two of us appeared to be
with faces from the film called
Misery Loves Company.
And in the end, when I could feel
a dozen newly-hatched gray hairs
make their appearance, laterally
I left the temple of this moneychanger
and sniffed the air for penthouse scents.
Now at the mercy of the hands of power,
with just one task to master, only once.
It was manipulation of the thumb
and took an effort like the raising of
the battleship called Arizona.
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Comments about this poem (The Nicer by Herbert Nehrlich )
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