I Am All Flawed Assumptions Poem by Don McWilliams

Massasoit was a smart guy
but he sold the pilgrims
a hundred miles of oceanfront
for a few animal skins,
some farm implements
and an iron axe.

Every man, ultimately, keeps his own counsel,
his perspective limited by being
trapped in his own head.

I am all flawed assumptions.
I thought that value was a fixed concept,
unaffected by variable circumstances,
and that what was abundant would remain so.

Here, on two acres of tidal marsh
where, at intervals, I observe only mud and flies,
I long for an iron axe to clear the trees
from my waterfront view,
far north and far from anything
that feels like home.

I have yielded things of value
for precious little in return,
Massasoit, Great Chief.