Only the Rich

Only the rich know how to live,
Only for them is life worth living.
They have two things on their side:
Money, mother of value, and Time,
The father of thought.

They know how to dance and wear nice suits.
Their names are Richard, Jonathan, Thomas,
Carlyle, Gold, Leibowitz and Smith.

What do they do all day in their buildings,
What do they do all night to their wives
Dressed in gold and pearls —
To Sarah whose fingers are diamonds,
To Elizabeth whose long, dark eye-lashes curl
(You wouldn't believe to see —
That she's not like that naturally)?

But the rich disappear: there are never rich people
Only nice things that we can't afford, only
Collonades and promenades,
The lobster bisque and the suave bifteck,
So tenderly does it drip with blood on the China,
So crisply do the edges of a roast duck
Bask in the wannish blue light
Of birds and pagodas and wings; there is only
The mansion and the iron spears and the silk and the crystal
And the spices and the electric chandelier
And the brown-faced maid who calls herself Maggie
Even though she was named Celine —
And the yachts and the small motor-boats for a pleasure cruise,
The pressed suits and the pared nails, the silverware
(A family heirloom), the fancy crackers and imported cheese,
The white teeth, the "hobbies" and manners,
The ball-rooms, the manors, the canopied beds. But we live

By the streets, we cannot even see the tops of the buildings,
We cook on the stove, we boil our sausage,
On Sundays we oven our mutton legs.
We live by the savior and the clergy's condescension,
The whispered psalms and the facts,
The "not on bread alone". For us our time
Is a vapor: we puff and we choke and we reel,
And only the rich can afford to get high,
And we live in the trips from our highs to our highs,
And our lives have no god.