Saturday, 7 September 2013


Miranda Wainright eyes agog
Couldn't comprehend the scene
A coloured paper avalanche
Spewing from a cash machine

She looked about her calling help
No one heard and no one came
She slowly filled two carrier bags
A self imposing numbers game

Both bags crammed and pockets full
She hurried home to think
Sorted neatly counted piles
In the kitchen by the sink

Not really sure what should be done
Her heart was pounding hard
She'd never had a bank account
Nor ever used a credit card

Her possessions sparsely minimal
Few friends and no relations
A wardrobe hung with second hands
Some sparkling trinket imitations

The empty suitcase by the bed
Now filled with all that money
She flicked a switch and closed the door
Her choice, the road to milk and honey

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