The Poetry of
Jack Scott

Fair Exchange

I am dying,
can you save me?
Death is nearing.
There is no hope in that.
I am dying,
will you save me?
“For a price”, said she.
Name it. Anything.
“I want your life,
I’ll give you mine.”
No. Money is our currency.
“Yours”, she said, “not mine”.
I have less time than money;
I cannot pay with what I’d save.
How about a hundred?
Dollars, but not days.
“Why quibble”, said the whore.
“The floor.”


430 ®Copyright 1974 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.