Poems & Prose #183 - Figure

A stack of pilfered checks

    in hand,

I smirk and jerk

    and make demands.

Money makes clear

    where I stand:

Atop a spire of

    ampersands.

The food now doesn't

    taste so bland,

Nor does my sight seem

    so non-grand.

Here now with plans,

    and plans

    to make further plans,

I stand not on

    drifting sand,

Instead astride

    a lengthening span,

Of plans

    of plans

    of plans

    of plans.