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Money Troubles

This poem is basically inspired by how tight money is likely to become once I’m relying on my freelance income. I think we’re all a little bit obsessed with money, in our ways, and so this poem explores that and takes a look at my own feelings.

 

I was always a money-grubbing
struggler,
a man with no muscle
who gets driven to hustle,
shut up and small
writing songs
in the master
bedroom.

Who needs money?
Only the landlord,
the utility companies
and the government.

I wish I could go off-grid
using solar panels
to harness
the sunlight,
underground pumps
to leach heat from the earth
to boil my boiler.

And bank accounts
are perishable commodities,
like the human body
with its built-in
expiration date.

The worst part is
you fade away
slowly
into obscurity,
like when your liver gives up
and then your lungs,
and then your heartbeat slows
and you slip into a coma,
and everyone you ever met
feels a tiny twinge of sadness
when they pull the plug on you.

That’s when you see
you missed every shot
you didn’t take,
and your money worries
should never worry you
as much as they worry you.

I’d rather be poor
and happy.

Published inPoetry

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