Green

Another performance piece; it's all about the money, Jack. (caution: raw language)

 

Pinstripe brains and wingtip egos:
button-down business bozos
don their daily garb
to war in white-walled trenches.

It's a forty hour battle
in a never ending war
with pauses while the players change their sides.

Hey, I tried it, man!
I was corpor-ate up with the blues
of shiny shoes and silky nooses,
fat gooses, power d*****s,
and it's all jive!

Who's alive in there? I want to know
whose show this is!
this biz of fizz and pomp and scam
 where power pimps proudly practice
all the principles of Peter --
all except the one who counts, that is.

'cause He's too cold, too bold, too moldy old,
fashioned from fairytale fragments
too hard to piece together,
too complex for our time,
too f*****g moral for our modern man.

Hey! sandals just don't go with three piece suits,
ya know?
S**t, no:
you need some hip boots to be a modern man.
And ya gotta get around.

Here come the wingtip warriors:
brief cases of vast greed,
sububbanites,
subhuman, subalive submariners diving to new depths
to plum the bottom line.

They're media messiahs, man --
mass market messengers --
and the message is the product
and the product is a product
of imagined worth which is a product
of imagined wealth which is a product
of imagined need which is a product
of the message.

And the message says:
Gimme that Green, man!
Grant me one, or
Washingtons
of molding, folding
trucks of bucks.
Your luck's about to change, just
Gimme thin, flat coffins
filled with grinning presidents;
come spend your only dead man
on my bed, man,
purse my lips,
my hips will follow
where greed leads;
I'll bleed, I'll fart,
I'll start to dance,
but fill my pants with Green.

Aw, son of Jack,
I miss your back myself,
I miss your smiling face,
the taste tucked in my pocket.
I'm left with Lincoln pennance for my crimes,
the times I spent myself for Green --
the blue times, the black and white cross times,
the red times,
the New York Times,
and it's all a purple haze now,
all a maze of no-faze days now,
all rather lumped together, clumped together,
jump-start lays for Green now.

I won't go back,
I can't go back,
No one or thing can take me back!
I'll fight, I'll claw, I'll scream,
I'll cuss, I'll gouge your f*****g eyes out!
But Jesus, man, let's be real:
The landlord wants his money
and I gotta have that Green.

Gimme some. 

Author's Note

"pennance" is spelled with two "n"s for obvious reasons. figure it out.
"plum" does NOT have a "b" for the same reason.
It's possible there are other misspelled words. Get over it. Or tell me below and maybe I'll fix it.

Reviews

[Emunah June.]

They say that money is the root of all evil, but thats not true. No, its the LOVE of money, the IDOLIZING of money, the HUNGER for money, that is the root of all evil. People will sell their souls, spirits, and pride for it, all while hating themselves in the process.

The type of vibe this poem gave me very much so reminds me of that song, "The Greenback Boogie". which is all about the lengths people will go to ensure they have a way to make money. There's a line that says something like "Living in a beehive, I dont mind / me and missus are so bzz-y bzz-y making money" and that just feeeeels so in line with the tone you have here. Playful, but has a sensible commentary that I think we can all agree on. Its a sick economy that we all partake in, but its our own fault how far that participation goes.

I always appreciate the personality in your prose. Thank you so so much for the share.

[FlatDaddy]

Aw, shuckins, m'am, I aim ta please. Glad you like it. It was a fun one to read aloud. Maybe I'll send you an audio.

[Emunah June.]

Id love that, please!

[emmajoygreen]

POWERFUL and LOUD AS HELL!

Plant a sou and look-see how the spirit can be shaken out of what might have been a greener than green tree - eventually lost of beauty, more a skeleton against the distant horizon. Headlines: 'Man fights the seasons, loses the will to live as the planet disappears down its own drain, devoid of worth and ugly as sin.

[FlatDaddy]

Thank you for this very cool review, emma. You say the nicest things!

[Samuel Dickens]

I'd say you really laid it out. I suppose we need people doing those jobs, but it could never be me! Seriously, I'd rather stack lumber at the sawmill than wear a suit every day and act like a hungry, hungry hippo with an appetite for cash and no morals. Good for you that it didn't suit. It reminds me of my middle son who tried selling cars for a time. He said, "Dad, I just couldn't lie to people."
A good one, FD.

[FlatDaddy]

Thanks, Sam, You go get that lumbar man. Just watch out for knotholes.

[Samuel Dickens]

What? You don't like knotholes? Now I know you're not a farm boy!

[FlatDaddy]

Well, they just don't make them large enough!

[Chris]

This one I would have liked seeing!

[FlatDaddy]

working on that one, brother ...

[roarke]

Bread, dough, scratch,…. Let’s face it, it’s all the same color…. The beats would be proud Flatdaddy now gimme some skin, man.

[FlatDaddy]

Hell, I'll give you the whole hide, Bill, for this kick-a*s review. Hey, I hope you got my invite?

[DESTROYA]

I love this! the rhyme is awesome, very great word choice. nice character, too. good stuff

[FlatDaddy]

Thanks, D, I do appreciate it.