Wall Street Meets The Poet's Corner Poem by Doug Lane

I enjoy getting bills.
Lets me know at least
SOMEbody cares.
I forgot to pay my Chase minimum
service charge last month
and my APR has climbed from 4.99%
to 29.99%?
Thanks for reaching out,
Chase.

We're fighting on three fronts
and need warm bodies
so badly I've been re-drafted
and will be sent to a combat zone,
though I'm 60?
Good to hear from you,
Uncle Sammy.
I was wondering
how you were doing.

My rent has been increased
by 70% per month
and if I don't comply,
including paying a retroactive
increase for LAST month,
I'll be evicted?
Thanks for notifying me
insanely avariciouslandlord
hiding behind
a real estate management corp.
You're a true friend.

It's true I've never met my friends
in the flesh.
But I feel we have a spiritual connection
which transcends physical,
if not postal, reality.

And my friendships have solid
foundations based on money,
which I must regularly pay
to demonstrate my commitment
to my friendlike substances.

And don't say
my friends
could care less
whether I live or die.
Of course they care.
They need my money
and/or my body
and they're not ashamed
to say so.
Who else can say that?
Maybe they're not really human.
Maybe they're just bloodsucking
private and/or governmental entities.
Still, they seem passionate
about me.
If I don't do what they want
they're going to do something
really awful to me.
They care enough
to threaten me,
to suck my blood
maybe even to kill me.
And isn't that what
love is all about?
I'm not alone in the universe
so long as one flea
is biting me,
one worm is devouring my entrails,
one last buzzard
is pecking out my eyes.
It's when I'm
gleaming,
scattered,
cracked,
bones
and my friends
start to search
for another host,
another carcass
to pick clean
that I'll really start
to worry.