The hand that listened to a pocket clink
With change was drawn to finger clammy coins,
Exulting in the expert touch that told
The shabby penny from its mates, until
In each was traced the dead exact number
And, like safecracking hand auditing
Dark dials, quickly clicked the sum, knowing
Better my dense pocket weight than I
My rent and airy mind.
Then the notion struck, a minted fancy:
Could not round copper, silver, lead, in any
Pocket bottom dangling, rubbing backs,
Of themselves produce the hand that weighs
And strokes in them each finity inert
And cold, and so stir up that mindless muffled
Clink, a travesty of mastery in
Subjection like a pet’s?
The seed clutched up in widowed womb from hero’s
Ash, and soon turned foetus, popped out god —
Perhaps is such a thing-engendered hand.
But coin-sprung monster come alive with drachma,
Doubloon, ducat, under ruined cities stuffed,
Could lead a death-free, palm-oiled life exchanging
Glinting treasuries…. By God! Have
You watched your hand? and does it burn to ransom
Greece or Babylon?
Leave a Reply