Richard Church
The Cheque
(Reproduced with permission - this poem may not be reproduced without permission from Pollinger Ltd.)
Here is the cheque, re-opened if you please,
Because the merchandise it represents,
Though legal has no trace of innocence.
Cashed where you will, it bears our villanies
Through its dispersal, multiplied in size,
At least to us who wait upon events.
Profit or loss, our mutual recompense
Has forced my signature. We know it lies.
But even so, the Bank will honour it;
For having is not virtue. I’ve enough
To counterfeit the wealth for which we swept
Hell’s floor. Ours is another deficit,
And there this cheque is false. Behind its bluff,
We shall remember how a woman wept.
Reproduced with permission - this poem may not be reproduced without permission from Pollinger Ltd.
Page(s) 129
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