He buys a ring from my table
with that familiar look in his eye; still,
I’m surprised that he says it out loud.

“Most modern wealth
is built upon historical theft,”
he tells me. “I’m sorry about that.”

I suppose I should want to seize him
and kiss his skinny hands
for all they’ve done for me,

but it’s too late.
He’s already on his Blackberry
and my gratitude, while it might be welcome,

would be an inconvenience to him.
Maybe next time? I really should say
something to one of them.