Money

A curse
bestowed upon rebel children of age
renewed at the entrance to parties
mocks you when you fall very close to it
but not close enough
because even a cent can wretch you
and you don't get to decide the price
you trust the market, ignore it in the best of cases
but of your trust it does not care
no special offers are ever conjured up at the moment
what you're left with is a sigh, always the same, always new:
bend your head,
caw.