Money
it's the end of the summer,
I go check the mail,
no more fishing it's a bummer,
my slimy boots leave a trail,
I open my box and get my cash,
30 grand I nearly fell to the ground
in awe I look to assist like Steve Nash
but I help people all around,
👁 2💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.