MR. CREDIT CARD

you are rich, boy
you are rich to have looks like a credit card,
platinum, sleek and clean,
thin magnetic stripped;

you attract all the girls around you
by natural laws and forces, we
wait for you, upright, against the wall,
angular, stiff, almost unnoticed but

always approachable, because you are rich,
transactions on a sharp smile and flick of wrist.
and while we contemplate your validity,
submit to keyed-in programmed requests,

give you pre-determined amounts of cash, you
withdraw continuous, circulatory, platonic
love from me like an atm machine,
snatch dollar notes to spend,
carelessly, shove into leather wallets and wrack up
bills you won't see to the end of the month-

but you are rich, boy,
rich enough for any of these atm machines,
and we will accept all of these other cards,
as long as they're platinum, sleek and clean.

(because truth be told, god-given rich but
you aren't the only boy we've seen.)