I’ll make a little money
selling some simple thing
to be bought, and thrown away,
and bought again another day—
I’ll make a little money.
I’ll appeal to people’s vanity
or maybe make things easier:
a simple thing that’s fairly cheap
and can be bought, without a thought—
I’ll make a little money.
I’ll build it in the cheapest way
and what minor stuff I’ll throw away
won’t hurt all that very much—
it isn’t really worth a fuss—
and I’ll make a little money.
I could make things a safer way
but then I’d have more to pay
and my customers would shy away—
and you’re the ones who buy, and buy—
and I make a little money.
I’ll make a little money
satisfying some daft demand
for plastic cats, or gnomes that talk,
or books about the drunken walk—
I’ll make a little money.
This poem was published by Never Bury Poetry.