Money

I was led into captivity by the bitch business

Not in love but in what seemed a physical necessity

And now I cannot even watch the spring

The itch for subsistence and having become responsibility.

Money the she-devil comes to us under many veils

Tactful at first, calling herself beauty

Tear away this disguise, she proposes paternal solitude

Assuming the dishonest face of duty.

Suddenly you are in bed with a screeching tear-sheet

This is money at last without her night-dress

Clutching you against her fallen udders and sharp bones

In an unscrupulous and deserved embrace.

- C.H Sisson