Proof of Income 

He was self-employed,

And it was difficult for him to get a loan.

Most banks required two years of W-2’s

To prove one’s income,

And that, for him, was hard to do.

For his ‘job,’ as he saw it,

Was to drive around the city all day

And spy someone texting while driving,

Or otherwise distracted by their phones,

Or ones who had crying babies on board in their backseats,

And he would swoop into their lanes, 

Just in front of them ahead of a yellow light,

And then come to a sudden, screeching halt,

So they might rear-end him.

It wasn’t technically insurance fraud,

But he had gotten away with this eighteen times 

During the past two years,

And he had made a fortune

Collecting checks for medical bills,

And car repairs and “mental anguish,”

And also selling, on the side, all the pain medicine he was prescribed,

And, not to mention, taking bribes from drivers who begged him

Not to turn them in again.

He had gotten so good at this, 

He had time to sit around

And try to dream up a good way he might now

Cheat the system of the banks,

So he could enjoy the benefits 

Of home ownership,

A first time buyer program,

With maybe even a lavish two-car garage 

So he could have a place to hide both his cars,

One for his brand new red Ferrari,

And the other, to park his trusty, rusty banged up jalopy in.

Well, I’d like to cheat the system, too,

But my version of it only consists 

Of finding a way to eat all the candy I want 

And not get diabetes. 

We all have our own priorities, 

And probably none of them are very good,

But maybe they could be,

If we could somehow forego

Our shallow worldly ambitions for Tomorrow,

And do, or not do, as the case may be,

Something beautiful for the subtle reality

Of the Oneness of the Universe Today.

Ahhhhhhh the Limitless Possibilities ...

-jenn