Firing Up. As far as finances go I'm in a proper pickle, My once flush cash flow Has dribbled to a trickle. The bills endlessly wash in, Only my heart goes out, My means are paper thin, My prayers never more devout. No assets left to seize, All my boom's gone bust, I'm down, on my knees, Not one 'In God We Trust.' Pacing the floor, by the door, Going postal for that relief cheque To pay off Bill's Convenience Store Before he wrings my scrawny neck. No last post for me today, No welcome postman's knock, The room's turning Arctic Grey, I'm freezing and in hock. I gather together every letter In shivering mittened hands, One time I'm a real go-getter, Now holding only final demands. Grab the largest pot In the stone cold kitchen, Dump in the miserable lot; Got troubles? I'll pitch in. All those weighty dispatches, Gone up in a stroke, Thanks to Safety matches- Hello hellfire sulphur and smoke. The letters dutifully brought By the conscientious postman Though warming, were too short, More a flash in the pan. ........................................................ I fear Bill knows my place, I fear an after-hours surprise, Afraid he won't leave this cold case, Bill's got fire in his eyes. Will Bill come by torchlight, Say 'pay 200 bucks or go to jail?' Cold comfort on a cold night? Bill, bring a molotov cocktail. Written for Chel Owens A Mused poetry contest, subject; 'a rant.' (Join in, jump in, its fun!)
©Obbverse
