The Importance Of Being A Millionaire


1. The Importance Of Being A Millionaire



I fell through the cracks,
Although my dad believes,
superstition never really  got the best of me,
but apparently,
neither did common sense.

Although I do always pick one pence coins
with no apology to the old woman who's eye glares
silently as my naked knees
Gleefully and greatfuly meet the cold ground
and I claim my lottery,
of a one pence piece.
I knew if I collected these,
one day eventually
I would be a millionaire.

But I do it now more for the story,
for the glory of being the first
street change
fat cat, diplomat
Who didn't need a degree

Who bends down to see if the grass
is still green,
in between the concrete
of the council estate she grew up on.

In this story  I am the protagonist.
Who's anguishes through destructive tendencies
But endlessly

excels in menial tasks
A protagonist
who still writes poetry
a diplomat who buys out beurocracy
With a thousand million gazillion
one pennies.

money never meant that much to me,
Spending it on novelties
Or brash and bright commodities.
the oddities of bookshop brawls
or raspberry and vanilla tea
that leave my belly
feeling warm.
and hearty
like my fathers laugh was at his
new found old loves
Christmas party.

Like the warm feeling he gets
Like when he believes that he will definitely
See her in heaven.

And they will be together indefinitely.

even Socrates said that:

Contentment is natural wealth,
luxury is artificial poverty.” 

And I would have to agree.
because no amount of one pennies
could make my fathers
life easy.

As he’s forced from the city
he has lived in for over thirty
long years to live in the concept ‘prosperity’
out in the country
side by side with people


evaporating painfully
My father laying in bed,
until his eyes fail to see

his lungs fail to breathe.
And I know from long ago, his heart already failed to be,
it is


Through the monotony of his lonely
every day life of watching TV
watching because maybe today society
will give him the answer he needs.
to escape this bourgeoisie
life line.
Signed his life away

in mindless
and though time hasn't been kind to him
I can see why he
Salutes the magpies

spits 3 times when he thinks he saw the devil,
Because he's never felt God.
I've seen this grown man on his knees

hands to the sky,
wishing that she was alive,
wishing 'God' would send her back.

But he doesn't.







My father slips through the cracks.



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