Dying Con Man

Go without me
and take with you
all the green stones
and gold you can grab.

When I’m here alone
I’ll have no need of them.
No one to flatter,
no one with whom to trade —

some will from afar call it heaven
and call me the luckiest man
alive.  But I won’t be lucky,
or alive.  No face to lie to,

no back to stab, no handshake
to pull away from — the bad man
is not lucky when there’s no one
to steal luck from.

Go without me, let me stay
here, dead as I should be,
that highest penalty paid
through my deserved loneliness.

Take the pilfered wealth
and go.   Leave me here, poor
and starving for a mark.
Wave good bye and turn your backs —

that’s what I’ve always cared most for:
your exposed wallets, your undefended spines.
Leave me that memory to work with
as I play myself, the only mark left in the house.