Confessions of a Fraudster
I licked your arm, the crime that we commit:
conspiracy, the state, we would defraud.
Much worse, it’s Barton Springs from whence we steal.
We thought the extra stamp upon your arm.
Like we had seen before, with spit, convey.
Press arm-to-arm to transfer the obverse.
It didn’t work. Conspiracy dissolved.
Our souls, most dissolute, what we reveal:
our willingness to, blessed springs, defraud.
That we might honor geographic place.
As sacred, holy, church that nature made.
Our penury, excuse, like Jean Valjean.
The sin of man, admission must be charged.
Like Jesus, I would overturn their tills.
The climb-proof fences, tear them all in two.
The temple curtain no more separate.
Except for bargain that I made with state.
Its balance sheet, much bigger far than mine.
With resources it has, it can preserve
the lives of sacred creatures of the springs.
No, not the crawdads, fish, or even eels.
(Their lives all sacred too, undoubtedly.)
Each time, three dollars paid as resident.
I might start paying extra as a gift.
An offering of love, not to my god
but to the state, my interests, it protects
sometimes, the salamanders whom I love.
T.H. Chalm 