Money Poems

By GREG MAFFETT | Published: November 12, 2011

When I say I'm a single guy

I'm saying I've had it

I've lost the patience required

When women say they are single,

They are throwing their ankles up on the bar

Ok, so maybe we, women and I, are saying the same thing

In different ways

And you?

What are sayng?

While sitting and watching

Me throw my Money Poems

Up on the bar

Nowhere Man

I'm looking, hoping

you aren't here.

among the derelicts

in the used book store.

I miss you, man.

Miss you.

But you don't belong

Here in a second hand book store


She is here, and if anyone belongs here, it's she, not you,

Few of the patrons can walk.

Wheelchairs, walkers, wheezers.

Angelou is one of them, not you.

We all end up somewhere, San Pedro?

But please, not here, not you.

I see Byron,

I've overshot where you might be

I never knew Byron,

never needed to.

But you, my friend?

Not the same.

How could anyone who read you walk (or wheel) in here?

I hear "I have some coffee table books, you interested?"

The used book buyer says "Sure, give me a few to look them over."

Books to be looked at, not read.

How could the same person that bought them, buy you?

I know, it's money and if it sells, it sells.

You sell, but you don't resell.

I go back the other way on the shelf, left.

Bly. Bly?

He's so, so small.

He belongs here.

But you?

Nowhere, man.

Smart Money

The smart kids in my class all know where their money is.

I'm observing the class, the professor in charge asks

"Anyone not know where they are invested for thier retirement funds?"

My hand is the only one thrust skyward.

No idea. Don't know, don't care.

I never expect to spend it.

It's 5% of my income that is tax deferred.

1% matching. Free money, tax dodge.

after that, no matter.

It will go to the kids when I go.

I've been working 43 years.

Never unemployed.

maybe one day, I'm a cripple in a second hand

bookstore. Maybe then I care

But for now, I'm dumb money.

Lunchbox Blonde

Jesus, are those tits money or what?

There can be no other thought in the guy's head.

Because that is how guy's heads are built.

There is a smile above the tits

A face that is not so bad or good as to detract

The perfect face really to constantly remind you

to lock in on those tits.

The blouse V's nicely, in case he is daft and his eyes forget

Beneath the table, boots with high heels

I like that, technically. Ankle support.


The only possible tragic ending to this story

would be a toppling blonde and

a bruised breast.

Wine Country

You never know if you are getting worked


in wine country

The prices make no sense

You drink, you like

You pay.

The prices jump like real estate

It was great last year, so...

You play the game.

You get wine with corks.

Corked wine is trash.

Cooked wine is trash.

You know this and you lay down your money.

Money that could buy a high breasted blonde, you think.

But you don't.

You buy the wine.

Maybe it's good, maybe its great.

You don't know.

The only thing you know for sure...

It's not a blonde.

And at this point in life

That's enough.


There is something to be said.

Brunette behind the counter.

Not a 10.

But well packaged.

So well, that you don't want to undress her with your eyes.

You know the drill.

Perfect bra that maximizes the cleavage.

Nerdy glassy that bring out the librarian baller in every wine drinker.

We are the monied nerds, no?

Yes. And the proof stands in front of us all.

The picture window behind her.

The ridge line between Napa and Fairfield

The ridge line between her shoulders and belly.

It's so simple.

So shameful.

So us.


My fridge is almost always empty.

That is half of why I have money

and why I'm so damn thin.

I don't get around to shopping.

Then eating, well, no food, no noshing.

I turn around, I'm thin and I always have money

I should write a book.

Procrastinate your way to wealth and health.

But the people for whom that would resonate

would never get around to buying it

Go figure.

Or just take a peek

Inside your fridge.

Cheap Boards

"Oh I have one over here, look at this!"

"It's laminated, that is a cheap Chinese blank. US Blanks doesn't sell anything like that!"

He's right, my shaper.

His boards are rock solid, tanks.

Even a rogue like me can't hardly dent them.

""We can patch your board up, you can sell it, get some of your investment back"

No I can't.

I bought the board, I'll extract the value.

Yes, its flimsy.

I'll have him build me a tank with a better blank.

But that will weigh more. Kill my arm, shoulder.

I'll keep the flimsy.

It makes the walk down the cliff to Black's so much easier.

I'll destroy it there over the years, just like it destroyed my skull.

That is how it works

You bust me...

Something this way comes

I'm here, not sure why

don't think I've done this here before.

Not in this space

But I am now.

With only a vague idea why.

But you've come, so

...perhaps you know.

Howell Mountain

Best bottle of wine I opened in the past year

Cliff's Howell Mountain. Only a few cases

Only the collector's club.

It's November.

They were to call me in October

It was to sell out in a day, hours, probably.

This wine just exploded in my mouth, the '06 that was

I was in my hot tub, trying hard to figure my luck

The trajectory, the apogee, of my life

It's all on the tongue, it works or doesn't

I missed the call in October


Not really, I was in class, I ignored a call, it wasn't regret.

It was a decision.

I'm here, I mention the decision.

"Oh, I can sell you a bottle" the he pourer says.

"Really, I hadn't heard" the she says.

They are rationing heroin. I understand.

He pulls up my account

"Oh there is a note, call when the Howell is released!-Ok, I can sell you two!"

I shake my head.

I know this is the best deal of the year.

I know it is limited.

I know I'll love it when I open it.

But I'll love it twice as much...knowing someone else gets a bottle too.

Money Ball

I take the other road.

I pass her winery

the one she took me to.

You should know where this is going

Down a road I should have avoided

Yes, she was after one thing from me.

It wasn't my wallet.

She wanted my body.

When she had it, she savored it like no other.

Her eyes would tell me so, then her mouth

But like the others, there was too much wrong.

for instance

She was alive.

She wasn't me.

She talked about things

She could only eat gourmet food

Why this road?

What would others think, I thought?

What did I think?

Why did I care what others thought?

They didn't see the eyes.

Everything that wasn't me, that was the problem with her.

And everything that wasn't me is what I miss.

I was the problem.

I usually avoid this road.

Scared Money

I'm afraid.

Have to go.

Pee real bad.

Not in the car.

No where close.

No choice.

Pull over, nature is everywhere.

Hide as best I can.


Why indeed.

I can't hurt the cars whizzing by.

I wave.

I think they are impressed.

Clean teeth

Chicks dig oral hygiene.

Ok, maybe just my hygienist.

"Electric toothbrush? I can tell"

Maybe she is impressed, hers is not a job where they get tips

I have a customer facing job.

Twice a year is barely tolerable, with all the wine and coffee

Three is more like it.

This oral hygiene is also a clue that I'm not a real artist.

Artists are way too suicidal to care.

Pollack drank himself to death.

Carver, Buke, never shirked from a bottle

Teeth were there for pain, inspiration.

I've lived to long, far too long

with too many teeth

to have any cred at the art bar.

At the wine bar there is a chick, Sylvia

I overhear

Sylvia won't date guys

unless they have flawless

oral hygiene.

I don't want any parts of Sylvia.

I just like

Clean teeth.


Its time to format the 11 book

its a money loser

every year we pump out a book

its a charity

we don't try to sell it

that often makes the money people wonder

but its not about money

fame, or what my brother thinks

what happens or doesn't

those are the results

the afters

this is the nows.

thats all this is.

Pub City

They follow they money now

if you can afford more than piss beer

and you can

then they will put in a proper pub

within walking distance

"Racer X" I say

"Oh, we just blew the Racer X, but we have an Imperial IPA from Heretic, they are out of Pittsburg, they brew our house beer."

For a moment I'm back in Steel City, PA. Thinking wow, they brew their beer across the country and ship it way coo-

wait a minute, there is a Pittsburg 10 minutes from here.

Just like the pubs


choosing torture

happens sure

you know you will pay

and pay

and pay


why not walk?


International Terminal

San Francisco

So opulent the terminal

it's not America, really.

Not the drabness that shows in the older terminals

Even JFK, NYC a jewel of a city

But the airport is showing it's age

LA, same thing, looks like the 60's when Dustin Hoffman

flew back from Berkeley as The Graduate

But this place, LOOK!

Long, lean, lithe, lasses

Put together, flawless hair

Fashion mag outfits

One after another, after another, after another

All leaving America.

Burger and Fries

Fine wine, Fine women

Manicured vineyards

Rustic hills

Overpriced resorts.

Only one way

To end

This day.

Any Comments?


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