1436

BANK TELLERS

Here to be decent to the memory
Of poets wandering dizzy in the canyons
Of money I must eschew glibness
And put on this oblong slip of text field
Only my humble remand of time
To its original idea, which is
After all not so different from the sun

There are a few tellers who've given me warm feelings
But money is a magnet under the surface of the pinball machine
That sends anyone off in a predictable errant wilds

And bank tellers inhabit a warm cave
They don't blank out at the first sign of wishing