Fool's Gold
On the main floor of the bus station in the windy city, I was being fooled, and my deceiver was going for the gold.
He was a con artist straight from the heartless streets of Chicago.
He spotted me long before I saw him, but I never saw him or ‘it’ coming.
I was an innocent naïve 17-year-old, straight from the Delta of Mississippi.
Where I was from, no one lurked, stalked, or skimmed to take advantage of me.
Like Eve in the Garden, I was alone, and an easy prey for anyone set an on evil deeds.
Like Eve, I was told what to do, but the deceiver was much more clever, and twisted things around.
Also like Eve, I listened to the lie of another, and before I knew it, I was believing his words and handing him a five dollar bill.
He was a pretender, but I learned the hard way to discern the difference between the reality and make believe.
Fast forward nearly 30 years, and the picture looks very different.
By then, I had learned about a brassy yellow material that looked like gold.
On a hot summer’s day, on my delivery route, I took a break on a river bank.
I stood on the banks of The North Folk of The American River in California. The clever deceiver was not human, but it sparkled and looked like the real deal.
I picked it up, and in a way I said, “You can’t fool me. You are ‘fool’s gold.”
11162016 PS Contest, But It Was Not Real, Lewis Raynes. Pl 8th
Copyright © Curtis Johnson | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment