I fell for a gorgeous man,
one that makes me feel good.
But momma always told me,
“Hon, don’t marry for love.”
I’ll be your banded domestic
for a one-time payment of gold.
I’ll be your sacrificial lamb
for a trip to greener pastures.
I’ll make all the gutters run red
for a little wealth transfusion.
I sent that man a-packing,
momma would be so proud.
For money, only money,
is my soul’s living wage.
[Note: Special thanks to my high school biology teacher Mrs. Talle who taught me the valuable lesson: “Don’t marry for love.” Also: “Don’t be the town bicycle.” But that’s for another poem.]