A ditty about something I found in my wallet.
Through the Grime Smiles Mahatma Gandhi
Resembling the deathbed of an ancient rat,
or a door mat
where a fossil once shat.
This filthy, spent sponge.
It’s been stuffed inside a Goan fisherman’s dhoti.
It’s filled the bill for a homeless leper’s roti.
It’s been stood on, bled on, sneezed on, wiped.
Supplied food, murder, schooling, wives.
This particular rhyme, I quote,
describes this Indian, ten Rupee note.
Other poems by The Word Dog