I don’t want to admire this opulence:
I want to frown on these icons of greed,
rejecting this seaside extravagance.

But maybe if I didn’t count my cents
and dollars just to meet each daily need,
I’d readily admire this opulence.

The chandeliers might not cause such offense
if gas bills didn’t make my budget bleed
and new shoes weren’t an extravagance.

Within these marble walls, behind immense
arched windows, there once lived a moneyed breed
that knew no want.  Admiring opulence

like this, while some folks live in cars or tents,
just seems unseemly.  We could house and feed
so many with half this extravagance.

I walk along the sea—at no expense—
past Vanderbilt back yards.  I will concede
that yes, I do admire this opulence,
but I prefer the sea’s extravagance.