Chas Weeden Poet Sonnet

I've Got Mine

Perhaps he spoke without meaning to share,
During a dinner with societal friends;
Others may agree, though none would dare air
Something so smug, for most would offend.
Was this the goal of each of these diners?
What of the wait staff who had overheard?
Do lives distill to this simple one-liner,
And does our culture to this end concur?
But tribes believe that all should partake,
In the feast that comes from hunting success–
A potlatch from a collective grubstake.
His greediness is our era's distress.

Someday, somehow, there’ll be surfeit to share,
So that even he may say, ‘They have theirs.’

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