Out of Order

Return to me, oh hapless currency!

Thy circumstance is doomed to fruitless be,

And I, in hunger's cruelest grip to die,

Bemoan the hour I ever saw the sign—

------------

Too late the hour, for long before mine eyes

Beheld the message pasted to the side

Of this thy present prison, so the fee

Had from my fickle fingers fallen free!

------------

And thou, oh mean, malevolent machine,

Which doth with Brutal dagger sever me

From sustenance and fortune both, yet cry

The victim, as if innocent of crime—

------------

If not in order, then in chaos lie,

Thou vile contraption! Witness then my ire

And weep, for rocked shalt thy foundations be,

Until thy kingdom fall to ruin sweet,

------------

That I upon thy fallen fruits might feed,

In worthy recompense of thy misdeed,

That all the spoil which once was thine

Shall both fuel my passion and pay the fine.

------------

Thus by thy sacrificial snacks redeem

Thy fault, and in disorder, rest in peace.