A poem for

A poem for Money

Grime and grit

We slave away for the bills

in ardor of paying bills

and achieving the freedom

to stand naively and say, “I can buy that if I want,

sway her persuasion

if I choose,

make him kill for a briefcase full…”

The puppeteers laugh

at such misguided

optimism.

There is no oil spring in your backyard, silly.

But if there were,

do not be fooled by the bills.

They may buy things,

but they buy people too.

Use them up until they

wither and die,

the spoils are merely

collateral damage.