Money

by
 Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me: 
 'Why do you let me lie here wastefully? 
I am all you never had of goods and sex,
 You could get them still by writing a few cheques.
' So I look at others, what they do with theirs: They certainly don't keep it upstairs.
By now they've a second house and car and wife: Clearly money has something to do with life - In fact, they've a lot in common, if you enquire: You can't put off being young until you retire, And however you bank your screw, the money you save Won't in the end buy you more than a shave.
I listen to money singing.
It's like looking down From long French windows at a provincial town, The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad In the evening sun.
It is intensely sad.

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