Money; Dirty

Like a baby asleep in a bin, tufts of hair

swirling to the back, of the lightening

platitudes, sorrel soirees, angry urchins,

perched in the middle of the street, a

cup in their hand, they get more cheese

than I do, under swill wills and motives

under-swept, this dance is old and gray,

yet I still take its hand, grip it like we

are falling fast, to the deepest cairn, the

sepulcher pulchritude, then they watch

me make sounds, like a chimp, chuckle

at my words, throw firm advances, yet

leave the bananas at home, too good for

art, too good for work, too rapt up in

self-pity to pay, but here’s a dollar for

your street troubles, sir; here’s a quarter

for standing statue still, in the sun, warm,

with a plea; I missed the boat, so I’ll try:


Poet                Unemployed            Any

Amount           Will                   Help



~ by Shawn M. Young on May 4, 2017.

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