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.
About the author
Jean L. Kreiling prefers traveling by foot, and has been fortunate to stroll along London streets, Italian cliffsides, and countless American beaches. Her poems…Read the full bio
Issue 20 · May 2014
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Two Poems by Kassandra Montag
- Two Poems by Bernard Henrie
- Two Poems by Anna Weaver
- Gifts: Naxos
- hands off
- Two poems by Gary Maggio
- Ukrainian Now
- Newport Mansions, Observed from the Cliff Walk
- Two poems by Pepper Trail
- First Day in Sydney, 1992
- Two Poems by Laurie Byro
- Train Kids
- Floating World
- Morning Trip to the Mechanic
- Transcendental Nocturne
- Two poems by Kim Suttell