nest egg

you stare at your nest egg,
the numbers all aligned
in a neat printed row.
you cradle it in
your arms. hold it up to the light.
rock it, sing a lullabye
to it.
it's sleeping,
waiting to be awakened,
waiting for the day
when you can
take it out
and play with it.
some days it's smaller
than other days.
one year you couldn't
find it.
it was just a speck
on a piece of paper.
you want to wait until
it's fat and healthy,
you want to wait until it's
time, and you're
ready and you have no choice
but to spend it
because you're so old
and feeble. then and only
then can you do something
ridiculous like spend it
on a little red sports car,
a speed boat,
get another dog.