Today's prompt: "I want you to write a poem involving miscommunication. It can be miscommunication between two people or misinterpretation of some sort. I will leave it up to you guys to deal with it however you want." Poetic Asides
What can I say, I came home to find a ten dollar bill leering at me from the cover of my laptop - son two repaying me money he owed. Yeah, I know, I'm reaching, but hey, driving home from Casper last night through 80 miles of thick fog - the kind that resembled flying through clouds at 20,000 feet - sort of warped my perceptions, not to mention my eyesight. It's late, I'm tired, fill in your own excuse for me here ____________________.
Monetary Tentacles
The eye of providence reaches
out from the pyramid capped peak,
sees us all, knows what material
goods are the base of our longing.
Cash, c-notes, legal tender, jealous
god, greenbacks filled with rectangular
greed, a contact poison. A slave-driver,
chameleon-like, it revels in its role
as primary miscommunicator, starts war,
finishes peace, taps into sacred spaces
and countless lives, eradicates trust,
rearranges perceptions. Money can't be
reasoned with, I know, I've tried—placed
crisp bills on the kitchen table and spoke
sternly to the frozen faces, pleaded
and begged for relief from its insidious
magic. . . well, I meant to plead,
but the knowing look in those flat, green
eyes was my undoing. The cash wanted
to move, not nestle in my pocket. A new
order for the ages, turned on edge it all
but disappears. Some years from now,
tomorrow even, currency will grow fangs,
bite, drop off to whither and die
by the side of a road paved with
side-stepped intentions.
.
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