My poem, the Art of the Deal, was just published by the New Verse News. Here is the poem:

My cousin Bobby
tells me
the ultra rich
 
are negotiating
for more sunshine
on their compounds.
 
He reasons
that will mean
less sunshine
 
for the rest of us.
“They also want
a full moon
 
every night of the year.”
Bobby’s the nicest guy,
but thinks 2+2 is advanced math.
 
He read about the sunlight
in several feeds
on the internet
 
and now he owns it.
I ask him
who they are negotiating with
 
and he gives me
his poor dumb cousin look.
I drive home past
 
what we know as “the castle on the hill,”
and it seems to me
the hill has gotten higher.
 
The sun sets at my house
at 7:41 tonight—
it’s supposed to set at eight.
 
And I have to wonder
what else they might
be bargaining for.