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Writer's pictureAlexander Velky

Doubtist Books - Poetry - Big American fridge


Big American fridge


I often lie awake and wonder

About the things that I might like

If money were not an issue,

If space were not an object;


How much my life might change,

And how much might stay the same,

If I were suddenly freed from

The common burdens of my age.


Yeah, maybe I would like a fast car

To take a road-trip from here to Alaska;

Or a holiday in Svanetia;

A postcard to say “Guess where I am?”


A new suit cut properly to fit –

Not from TK Maxx;

And a new set of diamond-tipped drill-bits

To penetrate ceramic and glass;


A giant billboard to advertise

My fourth poetry collection;

And a lawnmower that runs on sunshine;

And critical appreciation;


And a big American fridge.

Yeah: a big, American fridge.

The kind of fridge a cat could get lost in:

A big American fridge.


They say you can’t take it with you when you go.

Well, what do they know?

They say money can’t buy you happiness;

But money can buy you marshmallows.


And money can buy you more money.

And money can buy you more time.

And yours can buy all of mine:

Dollars in my dime.


And I’d like a memorial stone

When I succumb to cirrhosis or gallstones.

And then you can leave me all alone

In a field with a view of another.


And maybe there’ll be one little river

To wash away my bladder and my liver

And maybe even one little bridge

Over my big American fridge.

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