Look at old Alabaster
in all his power and glory
grasping his silver spoon
in a palsied grip.
He knows the spoon holds power
and power is jelly in a jar.
If someone somehow gets a spoonful
it must have been taken from him
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Nothing proclaims privilege like white porcelain.
Its glossy surface reflects a prestige anyone can appreciate,
though the privilege, surprisingly, is getting harder to preserve,
even here in this milk-white marbled executive suite
populated by the pale and mostly male descendants
of white porcelain’s original beneficiaries –
all of us attired in the traditional uniform
of extremely starched ivory shirts
and aggressively angry red ties.
So privilege, nowadays, does bring problems –
though, trust me, you will get no sympathy
from the plastic port-a-john people on this.
White porcelain, even when it is safely segregated
behind a locked door, to which I, alone,
possess the code, can still get sprayed –
as happens often when I assume
a standing position of casual authority
with my hands resting gently, yet firmly, on my hips.
And, sometimes, white porcelain can get spackled,
even when I am comfortably seated, skillfully
conducting a contentious board meeting by Zoom.
Of particular relevance right now,
white porcelain can get clogged when the flusher
thingy suddenly won’t work, which,
of course, I only learn too late;
when, let’s say, a large deposit
(the only kind I make)
has been dropped at the bank.
I pride myself on solving problems - even unwieldy ones.
But how do I make peace with this unexpected imposition?
Acknowledging it makes me human,
a thought I can’t abide.
Asking for help makes me humble,
an approach I will not try.
However, ignoring it makes me privileged,
and that just feels right inside.
Plus, there’s no harm done.
Tonight it will be disposed of
by someone I do not know
and will never meet.
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
I’m rich because I don’t like to pay for things – like taxes. And because I’m rich, I don’t have to. Take, for example, vacations. I can afford to pay top dollar and stay at an exclusive resort in a wealthy country. But why would I do that when it is so much cheaper to stay at an exquisite resort in a poor country?
I know what you’re thinking. But, Knowgood, will you be safe? With all the intense pressure you are under everyday as a powerful hotel magnate, how will you relax? We’re worried about you.
Don’t worry. Vacationing in poor countries is remarkably fun and safe. You land at the airport and people are everywhere desperate to help you out for a small fee. It’s as if their lives depend on it. But what’s best is you can haggle. That small fee then becomes paltry.
I hear you. That does sound like fun, Knowgood, but do you ever get a chance to relax?
Sure you do – at the posh resort drinking Planter’s Punch and smoking Cuban cigars while pissing in the colonial blue waters. You can relax because you are perfectly safe. That’s what the men armed with assault weapons make sure of. At least I think they’re men. It’s hard to say because they’re wearing camo with Kevlar vests – and balaclavas, so all you can see is their angry eyes.
It’s impossible not to relax.
Knowgood Carp, Owner of All the Hotels on Block Island (and Some in Connecticut)