Poor in New Orleans

Not sent Po Boy Views
By
Phil LaMancusa
Mean Green
Or
That’s What I Want

I am blessed with having a really good life. However, there is one little detail that I would like to take care of… or, better yet… have taken care of for me; just a little something that would make this moon walk down life’s yellow brick road a bit more bearable. Make the view from my window a little rosier; allow the panorama from my porthole on the ship of my existence to open onto smoother sailing waters instead of, say, approaching ice floes.
What I’m missing is not the gut in my strut, the glide in my stride or the pep in my step. I do not have a hole in my soul or a crimp in my style and certainly, there’s no shame in my game.
I have the love of a good woman, the comfort of friends, the respectful distance of family and the welcome of several bartenders in local watering holes. I have no enemies not of my own making, a vehicle capable of seeing me through another evacuation and an adequate supply of toiletries including product for my hair. I am militant about having an inventory of toilet tissue, all my plumbing works and household chores are shared and completed in a timely and efficient manner. I drink spring water, eat mostly vegan foods, recycle my beer cans and the critters at home love and respect me; I have that. That’s not what’s missing.
I’m in good health and in reasonable control of my demons and body functions and I rarely embarrass people with my actions. Morality is not an issue and I practice kindness, consideration and forgiveness even though it weighs on my patience and nerves. That’s not what is missing from my life; like I said, I have a good life.
I’m educated, well read, artistically inclined and participate in my community to the point of working the voting polls while y’all slackers decide whether it’s convenient to cast ballot or go out for a cocktail. You might ask “what on earth more could you ask for?”
I’ll tell you: I want a bunch of money to spend! Cash, currency, funds, lucre, dough, capital, riches, wealth, I want it. I want more money than I know what to do with it, I want more than I can spend. I desire the root of all evil, that stuff that greases the wheels and cures all ills. Legal tender, coin, bucks, jing, dinero, moola. Gimme, gimme, gimme.
There are those that will tell you to “do what you love and the money will follow”. We know that that’s a load of crap. There are those that say that money will not buy happiness or love. You, above all people, know to park that one where the sun don’t shine. If money is such a bad thing, why aren’t rich people giving it away? Why do poor people want it? Why do I want it? I’ll tell you why.
Money is the great liberator, and like most of us I weary from just getting by, hanging in there and being saved by eleventh hour reprieves. If I can get beyond that ‘two steps forward--three steps back’ dance, why, that would be fine by me. Imagine not having to think about being able to pay a bill, make a payment or pay cash for something without breaking your bank and back. The way I see it, having gobs of money is a necessity and better for my mental health- I simply cannot afford to be broke any more and it’s making me crazy. As the old song goes “the best things in life are free, but you can give them to the birds and the bees… I need money… that’s what I want”.
Money is not inherently bad, after all, it makes the world go around (a mark, a yen, a buck or a pound) and the world is not a bad place except for the presence of people, but, that’s another tale for another time.
People with money are welcome anywhere, at least until their insipid, name dropping, arrogant, snooty, condescending and uppity personalities make you want to take them outside and fuck them up. I promise that I will exhibit none of those traits; all I want to do is give money away as fast as I can and have more coming in as fast as I do because with money you can do good things. Lots of good things and I promise that you will never know that I am a gazillionaire, you’ll just find that your tab is settled, that expense that was hanging over your head is gone and that silly item that you put on your wish list was just delivered to your door. In short, your check will be in the mail, for true.
Money talks, hell, money sings! And I love that song. I want my hills to be alive with the sound. I want it to fly through the air with the greatest of ease. I want it to rain dead Presidents; I want hay to be made when the sun shines.
Don’t you think that we all deserve more money? Of course you do! Well, it’s got to start somewhere and having worked for money for longer than I care to think about and having absolutely nothing to show for it, well, I propose that I be the first one of us to become filthy stinking rich! And when I find out how to do that, why of course I will let the secret out and soon we’ll all be rolling in dough and want for nothing!
No more picking up extra shifts because our rent is due or borrowing from mom because the cat swallowed tinsel from the Christmas tree and the vet’s gotta operate. Or missing the Stones concert, Superbowl game, Oscar ceremonies or the running of the bulls because our money is funny and we’re as broke as a piecrust. Bfstplk on being poor!