Life Chance

I don’t want to get by; let me get rich,
I want enough so tantrums, insults, jeers
Go uncorrected. As daft old age nears,
I need enough so that the fits I pitch
Result in someone calling me a bitch,
Then squirming in his warm blanket of fears.
When people listen to my startling sneers
I want them ready to jump into a ditch.

I want the stuff in massive, tumbling piles,
In mounds, enough to strain my elbow joint,
So much that I could have a priest anoint
My laurelled skull and praise my manly wiles,
Counting the women that my cash beguiles.
There is a chance that life will disappoint.