Cards Or Money Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

I hate those cards,
that are called,
Master and visa,
for these making me,
to worry about,
the Money, I need to pay.
and always check my credibility,
month after month,
with at least,
ten percent payment.

Freshly printed money,
just out of ATM,
so fresh, very stiff,
no smell of sweat and drugs,
stick with one another,
as sisters, or,
the worn out money,
with the smell of dirt,
stay away from one another,
as brothers.
I like spending,
printed notes.