Forget it

I made my home in another age, dreaming a habitat
without a frame. Some people thought it was
worthless because it didn't cost much but it
took everything
I had. I'm still a housekeeper and I don't want to get
paid for it. Even back then I didn't do what I was
told.

I learned to sharpen anything made to cut. The
rest I made smooth. Out of a recurring old growth I
ripped all the timbers, planks, shakes and boards I
needed, accommodating the checks and rot in the
great trees
I lived in the shade of. I kept and caught no animals,
made an income of my own and grew a few
things.

I'm the voice from below. I pity the rich
because they have so little. I'm not a socialist
and don't own a condo or even a car. I don't see
wealth and poverty the way academics do. I
didn't ask for money, lived a good life and sacked
a few delusions. In the south they are poor. I had
land and didn't depend on money or an education,
not even status or prestige. Didn't have agents
and stood on my own feet. It's not natural to
consume so much. What was good for me would
be good for you. When I'm angry I imagine
hunting trucks, the high ones with horns on their
hoods. I live in another economy and it is both
older and younger. My money isn't dead. I don't
devalue my work. Forget it. I'm not interested in
catching up.