Dead Letter Day Poem by Gary Diamond

A ritual burning of the past in petrol-soaked rags
Rags that now cannot turn to riches
In any way other than distruction
Of personal property.

I have to wonder how many trees got cut down to send those final demands.
It hurts the soul that someone shouts timber for every thousand unpaid debts.

Putting people on trial is not much of a solution.
Impounding the wage just convinces the suicidal to jump.
Such demands that break a man or womans back.
Such demands that turn up at the start of the weekend
To ruin it
Because all the offices shut on the weekends.

Learn to fear the post man.
Learn to fear the rattle of the sabre
Brandished by the loan sharks in sharp suits.
You have to reason is it worth the risk
To live above and beyond the means
For such an unchecked amount of time.

Easy money leads to headstrong heartbreak.
No Mr Occam the simple solution is not the best or the right one
So put the razor, the sabre
Away.

Cut the lender card in half, throw it away, send it back.
Before it burns right through your jeans and your resolve.
Before the unnessecary luxury
Becomes the thing beholden and desired by everybody
At least in the crumbling palace of your mind.

Burn the paperwork
Burn everything that bears your identity
Obstinately they give you these things for security
In fact it's just a ruse for the lazy
To track you and leech off you and grab at you.
Even if your identity is faceless
Keep it locked tight nonetheless.