Money Tree Conversation
Why do they say money grows on trees?
I don’t know I admit
Her eight-year-old eyes look into my soul.
They kind of do though because money is made of paper
And paper is made from trees, right?
I guess so, I say.
The conversation continues.
On and on and on and on and on.
Have you met eight?
I finally say, “I have a money tree in my yard.”
She snorts, snickers, laughs.
She does have a money tree, her seventeen-year-old sister says.
Her face changes; it is an unfamiliar expression of hesitation.
Wait a second, she says, “You told me that you lie, right?”
Sometimes I admit.
She looks relieved.
“You don’t have a money tree, right?”
Right, I admit.
Shaken down by a determined, serious five-year-old.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
