Money, the long green,
cash, stash, rhino, jack
or just plain dough.
Chock it up, fork it over,
shell it out. Watch it
burn holes through pockets.
To be made of it! To have it
to burn! Greenbacks, double eagles,
megabucks and Ginnie Maes.
It greases the palm, feathers a nest,
holds heads above water,
makes both ends meet.
Money breeds money.
Gathering interest, compounding daily.
Always in circulation.
Money. You don't know where it's been,
but you put it where your mouth is.
And it talks.
We are covering this poem, among others, in my poetry class today. It is amazing how some things just simply fall into place. The more that I learn about the world's dependence on money, the more sickened I become. There is nothing to be done at this point, but resigning to that fact is something that I do not want to do. Nonetheless, the poem rings true.
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