Poem-A-Day: Day 145

The Con of Man

Grifting through crucifixion,
and passing on the savings
to the poor and dispossessed
in some passing fad,
and the passing fades to fathoms
going down,
deeper down,
deeper still
until the bottom rung
resembles a single nail,
driven through the feet
of the world’s greatest conman
pulling the wool over,
and over
until it looks of threads;
hanging curtains
of a sallow face,
smiling behind the fringe
and realizing that the sunny side,
has always been on the underside.