I know your every whim should be my top priority;
your youth implies importance; you’re a bigger deal than me.
You’re short of cash? I’d better dash off with my debit card,
and get your dosh; it doesn’t wash to tell you times are hard.
I may not have enough to pay for eggs and milk and bread,
but I must aid you, as you claim a price upon your head.
You state your case as if you lie, but why should I complain?
I’m probably mistaken, due to water on the brain.
You said you needed thirty, but now sixty’s not enough
to dole out to your dealer; your afraid he’ll cut up rough.
If he don’t get ato least a ton he’ll fracture both your knees;
So here you go now sweetie, I’ve a thousand, take it please.
I shouldn’t be so greedy, I shouldn’t need to eat.
I needn’t spoil my Grandsons with some silly Christmas treat.
I shouldn’t be so selfish, you’re a bigger deal than me;
I know your dirty drugs should be my top priority.
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Before my friends get the idea that this is still going on, I should explain – it was written for a contest which required a sarcastic poem. In the end I didn’t use it.
©Jane Paterson Basil