Money Ii Poem by Chris Jibero

In thistles and thorns
Is money hid by its shrewd
Inventor but won't say
A Jew, an Indian or a Lebanese
Who wove this smart plan day
And night in the closet of his heart
Like a plot to kill a guarded man
That is not planned and executed
In one day

And dead on target a monster is sired
An all-conquering fiend
In the hand of the powerful who hold
Firmly its harness and control its movement
To keep the world of the poor in their grip
Allowing it to trickle down to them
Like little drops of water from the water
Bottle of a lone traveller in the wilderness
Longer journey than Exodus
Without manna nor water of Mara

Money never in ample supply
Forcing men to scurry daily
Like panicky rats, piling it up
As yam heaps in Benue
Buying and discarding
Gathering and scattering
Satisfied and unsatisfied
Scarce in hungry pockets
But plentiful in overfed safes
Giving momentary happiness that takes
To flight when tribulation comes calling
Like flood accompanying a downpour
To swallow gay yam farms.


(C) Chris Jibero.2009.