The Money
The money took a nosedive,
the money packed her ‘Herbal Essence’ shampoo
and headed for the city,
the money sang ‘The streets are alive
with the sound of barcodes.’
The money wore a floaty dress,
she liked to wrap the ribbons round her fist.
The money was loved by many tall men,
read hardback books, carted the kisses
blown to her by beige boys,
to the bank.
The money bought herself a pig
and fed it metal coins.
The money had friends with mint-blue jackets,
they would play pontoon
with golden match-sticks,
the money joked ‘Winning isn’t everything’
and every tonsil in the room vibrated.
The money had champagne mouthwash,
she cried into her silver soup.
One day the money ran out.
We no longer rustled on our way to work,
no longer paid our dues
with handwritten cheques, we fell
for the money and the money fell.
The money never called us by our names.