Enough

Like a black hole sucking in red dwarfs and binaries,
money, for some, feeds only an insatiable appetite
for more money. Hunger compounds. Bank whose fees
cannot fill the vault, boxer whispering one last fight,

python with its maw around an antelope
and eyes on a buffalo: nature abhors a satisfied
absence of want. So tell me: What kind of dope
sits on his patio in the light of a red-eyed

sunset and thinks he has enough? Surely greed
will worm its way back into my heart by morning,
when I’m surfing Facebook while my wife sleeps and see
pictures of a friend on vacation, happily performing

the rituals of wealth. But for now, I have no
stomach for more, unable to say how I got full. Dumb luck.