Monday, 30 November 2015

We Regret To Inform you That you Have Insufficient Funds

Our boats are hardly floating but many great friendships start from despising the same person
We have four dollars and fifty-four cents in our bank account
Why is it even called savings
When we say our bank account we mean our entire bloody oath savings so never 
Ever compete at being poorer
If only automated teller machines allowed us to extract amounts less than ten dollars
We would insert four one-dollar coins into shopping trolleys and leave them there
For nothing for those poorer than us
It is unlikely
The caramel coloured plastic dog with a piggy bank hole in its head
We’ll feed that with our fifty-four cents
Two children declare the confectionary aisle as Charlie’s chocolate factory
They quest for tickets and error receipts as the equivalent
Length is delightful except for their mothers
The twits who hang off the five fingers of their guardians
Four already entwined with handles of plastic bags too thin to encourage the contents inside 
From spilling we’ll open a can of baked beans inside the mall
And throw a caution of spoilers for winners we never liked the runner-ups
Grocery shopping is expensive 
We can’t afford almonds
Nuts can undermine cravings or so they say
We’ll jump our engines and cruise through fast food chains to soak our stomachs in oil
Six months old
What’s a piece of lettuce supposed to do
We don’t even eat lettuce so why’d you have to fucking shred it
We hate smearing off the lettuce and mayonnaise
With napkins we feel so judged for doing it
We wish some people could leave their greasing for dressing their salads instead
They wouldn't even give the sauce for free let alone the actual thing
We want our next birthday cake to be a mountain of chicken nuggets
We’ll tell you more about this as the day nears
We got fined an extra ten dollars on our phone bills for international calls
How boring would it be to be successful in the future if we were rich the whole time
“Time is money” says the old saying
No one listens to you anymore
Stop sending your catalogues to our address or at least provide a pre-paid envelope
So we can send them the fuck back to you
We wonder what they think when they see our faces
The word disease is a disease itself  
We try so hard not to be ashamed of how poor we are but maybe it’s just a phase
We’re going through
The receipts now
And who knew how absorbent they could be for teardrops of deprivation
Upon enlightenment, “Oh my fucking god,” the children scream