A Poem For Cheki

10 May

A Poem for Cheki

O Money

You imaginary needful thing, how you call

You’re nothing but elaborately woven paper
And small metal.

Why do we believe in you, O money?

I have Money, I don’t have Money. Money
Comes and goes.

Money gets in the middle.

I never got too close to
Not having money
Safety net.

I only had a taste of what life is like
When Money goes away
Stops being there, coming
Through some sort of human conduit.

It’s creepy when Money takes to
Being unreliable.

You start thinking about stuff like “can we afford cheese?”
You feel grateful to have friends
Who live next door to good dumpsters.

Yeah, Money. You imaginary thing, Money.
You sure spread a lot of hate.
You actually kind of suck, Money.

Would that we could free ourselves from your
paper insanity.

That we might be our own best selves
Better to heal, outside of your dying embrace.

You are paper, Money. You are small metal.image
You are small broken things.

This is not your value. You are small parts of

Money is not your real name.
Money is a trap of a name.

What you are is not broken
What you are is not Money
What you are is not capitalized.

What you are is imaginings and earth.
And that’s all right.

2 Responses to “A Poem For Cheki”

  1. chekistocrat 2015/05/10 at 1:57 am #

    How much do I feel the part about having friends living near dumpsters. I’ve done that. And the “small broken things” line is perfect.

    Thank you for the poem. I love it.


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