Poet Marge PiercyCharm for Attracting Wild Money
You are the green of Elm leaves in summer.
New you are crisp as filo dough.
Old you are soft as well worn leather.
I will rub my hands with honey
and run through marble lobbies of banks.
I will dance for you strung like a jester with bells tinkling.
Come to me, come to me, come!
I will not keep you in a dark trust fund.
I will not chain you to labor at a mortgage
or harness you to clanking stock issues
but will let you wander free
as an alley cat through the city.
I will turn you out of your cage
to sing arias in the tree tops.
I am not mean but foolishly kind.
You would speedily rejoin others of your species.
Come, oh murmuring swarm,
build your wasp nest in my empty purse.
Marge Piercy
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