Money Monologue

From palm to greasy palm,

From hand to bloody hand,

I get passed around.

People claim they love me so much

yet

they only want me so they can give me away.

I don't get it.

Aren't I a picture of green loveliness?

My last owner spat on me, neglected me

I whisked away in the wind.

The next man who owned me is dead now. 

His wife knew she could obtain me and my brethren,

so she put a hit on him.

I hope my new owner will use me on something meaningful,

maybe a bike for her daughter,

but I won't hold my breath.

Ugh, fuck owners!

I've been in cash registers, pockets, briefcases, and in very,very dirty places.

Even under a bed for eight years.

I am dirty.

I am material.

I will always be here,

but I won't always be there.

I want to fly in  the breeze and see the world.

I want to be free.