Very Bad with Money

When my rent is due I will pay it with a smile
flash my signature across the bottom
like I don’t have a care in the world.
As the ink dries I worry that the cheque will bounce
like a ping pong ball falling from a pocket

at a funeral.
I rub my fingers across the blade of my credit card
I use it to chop up steak in restaurants
It is my key card to any hotel room in the world.
I walk through shopping centres waving it like a Samurai sword
I point it at the man in Borders
he bows his thanks as I leave.

I read my bank statement
like it is an exam paper I have just turned over
and am unable to decipher any question.
I scrutinise the debits like a widow

rereading the suicide note.
In Cash Converters I sell things I worked hard for
Box Sets for a pound
limited edition vinyl for a bus fare.
I have been barred from PartyPoker
my PayPal account was closed down.
I have my bank statement in my hands

and am tearing it up like a betting slip for the horse
that had been hotly tipped on the radio that morning.