I A penny
saved, heads-up,
one, shiny
buttercup,
its tiny
face value
sunned with luck
such that you
stoop to pluck
it—kids’ play,
fair return
due— is a
penny earned.
II Money doesn’t
drape herself
on fair limbs,
float her wealth
of long stems—
green affair,
lush, moss laces—
put on airs
and graces
or astound
with beauty
of sheer gown
grown on tree.
III Can’t buy me
heaven’s hues,
almost seen—
window view,
mid-caffeine,
sunrise flight—
giving way
to city sight’s
metal grays:
change some hand
disposed of
on this land
that I love.
IV For the love
of money
is the root
our trustee
in scaly suit
inearths in high
performance
faith. We buy
such serpent’s
produce while
upheaval
smiles the smile
of all evil.