nouveau riche

there is rich.
the poor,
the fat middle that holds
most of us,
and then there is the nouveau
riche.
money acquired by theft
or luck,
by death
or lottery, a lighting
strike from
above.
you see it in the cars
they drive, the enormous
house
with chandeliers,
the parties
that scream we've
arrived.
the accumulation of so
much
that glitters and glows,
how it all
quickly appears
and
soon,
the weight is lost,
the knife
does wonders in taking
the years off,
new teeth, a new nose,
hair is grown.
they are different now.
at least on
the outside, but in,
has hardly changed, that
needle of who
they really are
has barely moved.
the mirror hardly knows
them anymore,
but we do.