She got the gold.
In the end it didn’t much matter.
She was all about the money, the having. She’d probably hock it anyhow.
Gold to her was orgasm. Dull warmth burnished. She had to have. Must have. Will. Have. It.
Kept the monster fed so she could weigh and stamp each nugget. The pure stuff. High end. First class. And if she draped herself in 24 or more karat how her adoring public would bow and scrape and she could just flutter her fingers, gold bracelets tinkling as each smashed into the other.
I hope her Midas touch turns it all to clay.
Mari Maxwell’s writing has featured in a Coercive Control exhibition with Wexford Women’s Refuge Nov. 2019; Healing Words Exhibition in London Oct. 2019, University College Dublin’s Poetry Wall in 2019 & 2018. Her writing features online and in print in Ireland, USA, India, Brazil and Australia.