Re Issue – Thumbing the Gelt

Poetry, Re Issue

Thumbing the Gelt

I am the King of Coins,
wherever I go they listen.
I can’t resist the smell of burning,
It reminds me of home.

A coin fresh from the mint
feels like a brand new day,
a token of promises made
with double-crossed fingers.

Each wet wad is worthless
Lips speak of bribes. Each mouth
shaped by want. This
pretty paper is imaginary.

How I love that shiny gold,
a party dress dollar, each
element of a measured exchange.
I pass the time by counting

what I have. Three thieves
died of thirst in Death Valley
their dollars could not buy them water.
A cocksure wind blew 

their bucks away.
To know it is to lose it.
No one rules. But this.

© Copyright Naomi Woddis 2008

Inspired and taken from answers to the the following questions:

What is money ?
Who rules ?
How self determining are we ?

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