Money
Money By Philip Larkin Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me: ‘Why do you let me lie here wastefully ? I am all you never had of goods and sex. You could get them still by writing a few cheques.’ So I look at others , what they do with theirs: They certainly don’t keep it upstairs. By now they’ve a second house and car and wife Clearly money has something to do with life In fact, they’ve a lot in common, if you enquire: You can’t put off being young until you retire, And however you bank your screw, the money you save Won’t in the end buy you more than a shave. I listen to money singing . It’s like looking down From long french windows at a provincial town, The slums , the canal , the churches ornate and mad In the evening sun. It is intensely sad. Philip Lark...