I think I’m a communist

Nothing pisses me off more

Than listening to the Beatles, of all people

Singing about how they dont care about money

Because money can’t buy them love

Really, the Beatles?

Then why did you make so much?

and which women did you spend it on?

And was it really necessary to advertise your band

On underwear and cereal boxes?

As for me, my salary is capped off

With Sallie Mae payments

(She’s so heavy) and exorbinant insurance fees

Because I make enough to take care of the people

Who are sick and can’t afford their treatment

And I hope that the same system

Would take care of my husband or me

Should the worst happen

(I should say again, because it already did)

Hell, I wouldn’t even mind wearing a uniform

If it cut down on shopping

Which I hate

And I dont get my joy from diamonds, restaurants or cruise ships

I get my joy in little spritzes

Like when I introduce myself

To my landlord’s grandson

Who has been working on our apartment

As I walk past him on the stairs

Then my gaze drifts down

To the furry black arm

Careening through the cracked door

he hasn’t got around to fixing yet

Then I get to laugh and ask if his cat

Is trying to follow him in

And introduce myself to her

It’s only when she starts purring

That life feels really good

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