That some men poach, while some preserve; are these
the same? The lettered law aside, both cede
results. Does ethos trump that cunning squeeze
pressed on us by those pirates drunk on greed?
Like a snake, self-interest tastes the air
and slithers where advantage can be caught.
Unbothered by his victim's bleak despair
he fangs the kindest heart without a thought.
From where you ponder life and weigh its prize,
full knowing that your death is certainty,
are you a poacher who, through leveraged lies
finds trophies in the garbage at your knee-
instead of fragments, rare and precious clues,
to resurrect that god laced in your shoes?