ATM

ATM

A Poem by Marshall


The machine can only tell the truth
spit receipts( sometimes out on the street)
calculate how much your worth
and make you blush
if your bank account is below expectations.

Each time I stand before the Master
punching secret numbers
searching my memory bank for the last figures
I left behind
I am apprehensive and afraid
the ATM may punch back at me.

There is a long Q at the back of me
and the people that know their value
often shuffle the most.
Its us poor guys that must endure the pain
of exposure.

One of these days I going to tell
the teller in the ATM that my value
is more than just dollars and sense!
Thank you. I'm out of the q now with
twenty bucks. Phew!

Author Notes

These days I am writing poems of ordinary things. Bus Tickets, ATMs, Cellphones, Railway Tracks, Mr and Mrs Ordinary and all things that keep us attached to life and living. There's more around us than what we care to notice.

As a past time, I sit on a street bench and watch people as they go about their daily lives. The odd one deserves a poem. Thank you. 

My last series covered Revolutions and Power. This series will cover Ordinary.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

© 2014 Marshall


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i've been one of those poor guys enduring the pain of exposure.
Not even that long ago!
Highly embarrassing!

"What?"
"I KNOW I have money in there, something must be a miss)

Posted 10 Years Ago



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Added on July 3, 2014
Last Updated on July 3, 2014

Author

Marshall
Marshall

Auckland, Manukau City, New Zealand



Writing