A POEM - WORRIES OF THE BIG RICH MAN

WORRIES OF THE BIG RICH MAN
When I left on my trip,
I brought very little.
I had to have my computer,
The writing had to get done.
But aside from that,
Which I could easily keep with me,
In my side bag at all times,
There wasn’t much in my pack
That I cared about.
I had some clothes,
A cheap sleeping bag
And that was about it.
But towards the end of my jaunt,
In southeast Asia,
I began to buy.
I was headed for Australia
Where things would cost money again.
Real money,
Not just a few bucks here,
A few bucks there.
So I began to go buying crazy,
The closer it came,
To the day I’d fly outta there.
Kimono type bathrobes,
Clothing, sandals, jeans.
I bought more and more,
Finally filling up my massive pack,
Which had been only half full,
My entire trip.
But then I began to worry,
In a way that only people who ‘have,’ worry.
Before I didn’t worry
About my things getting lost or stolen.
Hell, most of my original clothes
Had long ago been stolen.
But now that I had, I worried.
I’d leave my room and spend the day
Out walking about.
But not as before.
Now I was constantly thinking
How terrible it would be
If I got back to my hotel room,
And some thief had made off with my loot.
“aw, this is no good,” I thought.
“maybe I shouldn’t have bought anything.
Maybe I should never buy anything,
Because the more you have,
The more you have to worry about.
Look at the man lying in the gutter.
He’s got some sort of food in his stomach,
And the earth under his body,
The sky over his head,
Things which can’t be stolen.
What does he worry about?
Not nearly as much as me, the fool,
The consumer, the big rich man.