A Wizard In Memphis

A Wizard in Memphis works nine to five
but really, honestly, more like eight to six
(he doesn’t get paid for the lunch hour)
on the seventh floor in a tower full of ties and bluster
where they give him tin, he gives it luster
and glister and a douse of the Art
and turns it to gold, and throws it in a cart
and it gets shipped off to China or England or Somewhere
and the boss pays him in pennies and doesn’t get up from his chair
while he scolds his poor Wizard,
no work ethic! no talent!
And the Wizard just waits and spindles his beard
until the boss barks himself tired and takes a call
and the Wizard leaves, and walks, or takes the bus home
and he sits on a couch and he plays on his phone
and his thoughts are light wishes, just wishes are all,
that he had a skill to get him out of this life but
he snaps his fingers and up-lights his pipe
and he takes a few tokes,
and turns in for the night.

Leave a Reply