Solid Mold

First classed and luxuried out,
Of credit card touch...
Writers of bounced checks,
Left perplexed but not stopped much.
Pawning bracelets and watches
Diamonds and gold,
To keep appearances a little less glittered
Hiding shelves reflecting solid mold!
To please...
Or pleasure?
No one dares to tell this story untold!
When pretense is the measure
With these surburbanites growing hungry...
Penniless and cold!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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