The Unseen Cost of Dead Presidents

Money does not walk anymore.
It talks as if he were a dead best friend
that has let me down.

I want to nudge it
send it to loved ones
with a note saying:
"sorry this is all the talk I got."

Benjamin Franklin has closed his eyes
he stubbles a hundreds time a day
often into the wrong hands,
I don't even speak to him now.

Grant apologizes
for his shabby appearance,
and how he cannot now stretch
500 dimes.

A 2 Thousand year old mummy -
worth money
haunts dollar store shops
seeking Lincolns grave,

I could answer that;
it's now in my pocket
buried deep.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace