I live in a garden of weather-ground statues.
No names left on any of
their rotted pedestals.

Someone not in the scene
tells me these are
my ancestors. My Founding Fathers.

I am not so sure. So many of them —
the list of their names
would be longer

than law firm-long. Then again, maybe
it is true. After all, they have given me
a law firm’s legacy:

a little blood money in my pockets,
linked to a demand that in every situation
I either win or settle.