And I'll end with a few new poems
that I've actually never read before.
Looking for my glasses, which I'm wearing.
There's water here.
We had a very invigorating conversation over dinner,
and I am going to read this poem in honor of that conversation.
It's called "Good Greed."
The town I live in, which is a rich town in the summer
because the tourism is really suffering now
like a lot of places--
it's a town that almost survives on construction
and real estate.
And the street I live on has become essentially a ghost
street.
I mean, there are a lot of houses
that were built on speculation and are empty
and can't be sold.
And there are a lot of people that we knew,
neighbors, whose properties were bought for these houses.
So it's a very strange feeling to see
this town being transformed into this ghost town.
Yesterday in a movie line, a man told his cell phone
that he was too busy to enjoy his new house in Nantucket.
"Yeah," he laughed, "say you're a banker and everyone thinks
you think greed is good."
My ocean town depends on real estate, construction,
and tourism.
It struggles now to offer summer school,
pick up leaves, and keep our library open.
More men line up each day at the railroad station
hoping for work to be delivered out of hunger.
Santos, our handyman, owns land in Guatemala
where he plans to retire.
Proud of his half acre of the future,
he expects only what he's earned.
It's impossible not to admire his ability
to proceed with dignity.
My father imagined a life more satisfying than the one
he managed to lead.
He didn't see himself as uneducated
or thwarted but soon to be rich.
Being rich, he believed, was his right.
I don't think there's any such thing as good greed
anymore than good hate or bigotry.
There's only our desire to define ourselves
by what we own and make.
Some believe there's no such thing as happiness, just
precious moments of relief.
At night in winter surrounded by the silence of empty houses,
I stand at my window looking for a TV's flickering light always
surprised to see the quaint, brittle face of my reflection
immersed in its one abundance.