Act 1: The Banker’s Dispute With Laura
Written by Willow, one of our poetry writers, and edited by Udita, one of our editors!
![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/621256_5c63e7280c1f4cb0a94124a6572663fe~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_333,h_332,al_c,q_85,enc_auto/621256_5c63e7280c1f4cb0a94124a6572663fe~mv2.png)
The Banker:
petunias floating in a molten river of
pennies, what makes up simple
blood & bones, the killers
waiting for a beggar’s ragdoll
between the emaciated fringes carving out
Fifth Avenue — & what now? Will Laura
surrender all worldly oysters to be wrapped
in a navy apron (out of sight, out of mind)
on the prowl for spare change, release
the neon butterflies
back into my murky shipyards? I know
that the human condition is more than
rice bowls & plastic alchemy, that it, too,
craves flowers to graze on, but even then,
Laura, these cities can only be fed by clouds.
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This piece was written by one of our poetry columnists, Willow. Reach them at @oldmanheart, on Instagram!
This piece was edited by one of our editors, Udita. Reach them at @wilde_woolf on Instagram.
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