Sitting around the table gloriously rich
in fake money. Colorful notes in
citrus with a mini Churchill handing out
second chances and standing in for
the absent prison warden.
That silver car was too snooty for
those purple baltic states, cheap and
oh so impossible to find, even on a globe.
With my cosmopolitan mind, and my love
of that sweet pink drink, I became a part time
upper east side rags to riches story.
My foot firmly planted on the gas pedal,
I left that top hat and useless thimble
waiting for their get out of jail free cards.
I took off at the word Go and
collected my loot. New Jersey here we come.
It was Park Place and Boardwalk or bust.
I set up my money making empire from
the start. Soon I had more hotels on my
property than that guy with the bad comb
over. My empire paid off, soon I was rich,
rich, rich!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem