The Faces on Money

by George Wallace

this one ground from the bones of slaves
this one sleeping with the devil's wife
that one with tongue of horse leather
that one big unsmiling and wise
that one pale with gun and claymore
that one tall in the malaria trench
that one tipping continents over
that one smoking among the buffalo
this one a steamshovel on the open prairie
this one with his fingers spread wide
this one a saddle in the mouth of mountains
this one in his astrological mind
that one with his lightning grin
that one hiding in blue bathtubs
that one lost in a mississippi swamp
that one drinking blood and gin
that one his face is pitted with pox
that one nobody would bend over for
this one tucked in a g-string
that one blind and rubbed for luck
that one with his voice like static
that one falling from hands like flies
that one his heart is ether
that one his teeth are fences
this one his words were twisters
this one his promises are mines
so much folding money! oh, the silver rain!
this one falls from our pockets so fast
we ought to cover the earth with our blankets
we ought to compass the earth with monuments
where that one sleeps in his murder canoe
fold them! tear them! eat them! stamp them in gold!
place them on a dead man's eyes
these faces that appear on money
they will not choke you

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George Wallace is the Poet Laureate of Suffolk County, New York