This week’s #writephoto prompt is a money tree…
When I first saw it, could it be free?
It sat there, quite still, for all to see.
Yet no one moved, no knees were bent
No hand reclaimed it, ready to be spent.
Could it have been forgotten about?
Had no one noticed? Would no one shout?
I turned around and checked the crowd
Waiting for someone to cry out loud
But the hubbub continued, quite unaware.
My gaze kept high, unwilling to stare.
I slipped my foot towards the spot,
Ears bright crimson, burning hot;
With a final lunge, I had it covered
And still it seemed no one bothered.
I squatted down, in a stockinged wood
Still pausing, I tried to read their mood
But I wasn’t given half a glance
No one looked at me askance.
One small boy on the dusty floor,
The milling crowd, happy to ignore.
My fingers touched the golden treasure
That simple act gave so much pleasure.
But as I stood I became aware
My hand was empty, my palm was bare.
I’d left the prize, I must have rushed.
I tried again; I pulled, I pushed.
It didn’t budge, stuck quite fast.
It took me moments before I grasped
I was the victim of a horrid trick
My hopes crumbled, I felt sick.
From left and right the sniggers rose
Everyone was in the know.
A little snotty boy of three
Stepped up and stood in front of me.
He picked his nose, scratched his ear
And bent towards me, so I could hear.
‘You’re the first to fall for that.’
He paused then added: ‘What a twat.’