Not without Money

A poem about money.
Hardly likely, she said.

Money is crass, cold. It comes
from the wrong side of the brain, he said.

We need to wash our hands often
and well when we touch money.
It is laden with germs and viruses.
A living depository, she continued,
for all things evil and small.

But what about a box of chocolate?
I said. You can't have such things
without money.

A necessary evil, she said, and
besides, can't you steal a box?

And go to hell? he said.