Money — stuff of dreams made,

Even monks need a minimal amount

With which to buy bare essence aid —

And others want all they can count.

So what is money, “filthy lucre” sought?

In Econ 101 “a medium of exchange.”

But that didn’t explain it fully, I thought —

Financial accounts, dollars and change.

Exchanged are personal endeavors,

And money facilitates unequal trades,

Where labor units apply differing levers,

And satisfaction generally pervades.

“The economy” it’s called, and its content,

Whether service or product, soft or hard, 

Labor is aggregate cost’s full extent,

Whether ditch digging or greeting card.

“But, material costs are surely a part,

Like for shovel and paperboard,

Shoes for digger, ink for the art,  

Transportation too, must be scored.”  

Was labor to make the shovel lost?

Labor to mine its steel blade toted?

Was work on its handle not a cost?

Is the sales clerk’s work noted?

Yes, so labor is essence of all.

All elements trace back to it,

Otherwise no cost can befall,

As anyone can readily intuit.

“Time is money,” we’ve heard for sure.

Time” in general? Or time spent

In human effort, personal and pure,

In exchange for reciprocation meant.

The economy is labor traded,

Money is not so strange —

A claim on effort that’s graded,

At varying rates of exchange.

 The worth of labor varies

With supply and demand. 

All transactions are for labor.

Without labor, all is worthless.

That’s how it’s supposed to work,

But reckon with one more force —

The Fed and govt. agencies that lurk.

They print new money, of course!

This filthy lucre dilutes the old —

We all buy share of the new green,

Without even being pitched and sold

Or it even being felt, smelt or seen.

And this happens every time,

When some major expense occurs,

Like corporate bailout, fix of sub-prime,

Deficit funding, or off-budget wars.

So next time we buy a thing,

We have to pull more scratch,

Maybe more’n we thought to bring,

‘It’s th’ credit schemes they hatch,

Passing debt to a future mark,

And not having to pay as we go,

So for some it’s a walk in the park,

‘Til card house falls, crashing domino,  

With our kids burdened so sadly,

With our monstrous gargantuan theft.

They’ll look back and curse so madly,

At our moral character, largely bereft.           

© 2008 R. Leland Waldrip