If there is a more mature me somewhere out in the distance,
by miles or minutes, a spot of perspective on the horizon,
me setting and it rising, a beginning and an ending,
changing and unchanging--
If there is a more mature me, don't come too soon...
but, please, come as fast as you can.
Who's to blame when you're short-changed,
when all the world 's a monopoly game?
For how hard you work do you think it's the worth
of all you can and can't bring to the dirt?
Are the hours spent to bring in the rent
more than the time you spend there at rest?
And when you work for your gas to get to class
are you just buying into the iron clasps?
Forfeit a nickel and you risk ridicule,
in this picky and fickle game.