pretentious, that impossibly parked pontiac pulling away

they had a nice father,
a fat investment trust account.
those mutual funds always do deliver,
I heard.

glass shards remolded into the delightful windows
that guide eyes upwards, not to the sky.
penetrating jealousy, always on.
no one home, thankfully the lights are off.

granite is the fierce foundation
that makes up the richness.
we can’t imagine, or comprehend,
what it’s like to have that excess.

and that’s the way life must be,
for the asshole who can’t even bother
to park the pontiac solstice appropriately
and wouldn’t really give a shit if it
rolled down a hill and smashed into a baby carriage
when one lives in coal harbour.