Peter M. Gordon

MARKS

I feel bad, sometimes, taking their money.
But they’d feel bad not giving it to me.

They want to believe there's a way to wealth without work.
Wake up early, slip on khakis and button-downs,

slap an ID on their waist, attached by wire
to their belts like a dog leash that binds them

to mortgages, car payments, family holidays,
wives every day, getting older, not sexier.

They believe only a big score can set them free.
I rope them the minute they slump into my office.

Rolex, Lexus, fine wine, pictures of mansion,
of each house, South Beach clubs, celebrities

all photoshopped. First time they ask me to
manage their money I say "no," once, twice,

three times, but on the fourth ask I give in.
I spend a little on them, -- golf, dinners, limos,

send them statements showing those fortunes
I say they’re making. By the time they figure out

they're poor, I’ve moved on. New name, new Social.
Come on, if you saw fifty dollars on the sidewalk

you'd pick it up, right? They heard about Bernie Madoff.
I tell them investing is a risk, but marks keep coming.

Marks want an easy score, like me.
They get hope. I get rich. We're square.


Peter reads "Marks":



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Peter confesses: "I recently read about a man in Florida arrested for running a Ponzi scheme that bilked people out of millions of dollars. I wondered, what sort of person could do that, and who would give them money. I wrote from the POV of the schemer to answer both questions."

PETER M. GORDON won the 2019 Thomas Burnett Swann Poetry Prize. He's published several poems at The Five-Two, along with two collections: Two Car Garage and Let's Play Two: Poems About Baseball. He enjoys watching film noir.