I've got a pocketful of ennui
and like an oil baron who thinks he's funny,
I hand it out to the desperately interested,
chesnuts instead of nickels,
puns instead of essays,
I hand it out like I'm
the new marshall plan.

On the other side of the walnut,
I'm a starving squirrel in siberian winter.
And should I find acorn trapped in the ice,
I'll pull and pull in
frantic death-row hunger,
desperately interested in life but
pea-brained backwards.

I've got the monopoly on boredom,
on frustration, on futility,
and I've got pockets that
plumb the depths of patience.
I look in and I want to scream.
But if I reach in real deep,
there's a penny.

I give it to the anarchist to flip
and carelessly, he throws it.
It spins and flashes
my head on one side
a chesnut on the other
spins and spins so it's anyone's guess where it lands.

and I hope.