mr. green proclaimed
when he was just sixteen
that he would have the rest of us
work his loud machines
how can we blame him
for his efficiency?
for his well used thread
for his clean kept knees?
how can we hate him
for his tossed naivety?
his easy lane
his undone deeds?
turn the gears
sweat hair no relief
the tic tocking of the blood clock
overpowers our hard wheeze
while somewhere on a blue
beach stretches mr. green
with his green eyed martini
and his stress free spleen
money fans his forehead
carried in on island breeze
the fine example of a man
who had the courage to receive
