There Will Be No Tomorrow
The sleek chrome of urgency. The slow-healing wound. The 90-word vocabulary that wins hearts and elections. The electrocution of snakes, an unfortunate necessity as the waters rise. Witch doctors brought to trial, MDs lost in the bone yard of shame. The fat wallet that gobbles up conscience. The wing-nut connection, the suppression of concern. All this and more to consider before you throw your heart to the dogs.
Just wait until the money tree withers and dies, then see what happens. See who sits in the White House, who burns it down. Who your real friends are. Just wait until the oil turns to sand and your dreams flood with dinosaurs, your children go up in flame at the supper table after grace is said. Down comes the curtain on your hide-away, up goes the over-fed bird of paradise from your nest egg, its ungainly wings flapping into the sky. In come the dividends under house arrest.
That’s right, you can’t live forever, slap your head and go duh. Turn the heat up and open the skylight. There will be no tomorrow except for the stars.