Carol Ann Duffy

Money Talks

I am the authentic language of suffering. My cold, gold eye
does not blink. Mister, you want nice time? No problem.
I say, Screw You. I buy and sell the world. I got
Midas touch, turn bread to hard cash. My million tills
sing through the night, my shining mad machines.
I stink and accumulate. Do you fancy me, lady? Really?

See me pass through the eye of a needle! Whoopee,
I cut Time dead with my sleek facelift. I travel
faster than $-sound. Don’t give me away; after all, no one
can eat me. Honey, I’m a jealous God, $-stammering
my one commandment on the calculator. Love me.
Under your fingernails I smile up with my black grin.

Don’t let my oily manner bother you, Sir, I’ll get you
a taxi, get you a limousine. I know a place
where it’s raining dollar bills. I got any currency
you want, women and gigolos, metal tuxedos. The party
is one long gold-toothed scream. Have a good day. I am
the big bombs, sighing in their thick lead sheaths, OK.