A Pound of Gold (poetry)

“My poor world!” I want to say,
as I sit here surrounded by abundance.
We’re poor until we aren’t and then
sitting in a room full of gold like
Scrooge’s Money Bin we wonder
why the gold isn’t at least one foot
deeper so we could move our diving board
one foot higher and get that extra
adrenaline rush as we free-fall
further into the abundance for which
we are never quite grateful enough.

We hit the pile of gold like a ton of bricks
(Family Guy did a cutaway about that—
great minds…). We aren’t made of feathers
like Scrooge McDuck, so we platz
and break all our bones when we intended
to dive in and swim through, sensuously.

There is this riddle about what weighs more:

a pound of gold or a pound of feathers.
A pound is a pound
unless you’re talking about the pound
of flesh that hit the unforgiving gold.

-M. Ashley

2 thoughts on “A Pound of Gold (poetry)

  1. Yes, caution is needed because it’s not like a canary in a coal mine. Throwing canaries in there won’t prove anything. I haven’t had that problem. My vault has rhodium ball bearings so the gold coins slide around like wheels. When I need to buy another gold-dusted chocolate brioche ginger-bread house, I have the fungible children bring some of the rhodium to a catalytic converter factory that supplies trucks for the truculent Willie Bloggers Chocolate Factory for Wayward Children. Unfortunately, Hansel and Gretel became rich selling their story and now train teams of orphan children to steal catalytic converters.


    1. In Pittsburgh, on the site of the Homestead Massacre is an amusement park. In that amusement park, a haunted coal mine ride. The last thing you see beside the rickety track before you descend into a mine is a canary hanging upside down. At some point in history, not too long ago, that was terrifying.

      Liked by 1 person

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