April Fools Gold

April Fools' Gold


We dig until our fingers bleed
until mountains become gaping holes
visible from space
rivers run the color of rust
flavored with arsenic
for the fish and fowl

We lust for the lustre
shimmy for the shine
hammer out thin coats
to cover our dead and devine,
those poor prophets
we have enshrined in gold

the very object of our worship

And

We fool no one, but ourselves.




[April 1st, 2013 --- part of my poem a day for National Poetry month!]