No jingling pockets, clinks of cash,
no wallet-bulking notes;
no ready money, dosh or stash,
no washers, coins; no floats;

no credit-rating worth a toss,
no guarantee for loans,
no gain or profit (simply loss),
no dough, no bread, no bones;

not a spondoolick to be had,
no loot, no folding stuff,
no lolly, moola, wonga, wad,
no ‘somewhere-near-enough’;

no funds, resources, coppers, change,
no needful from the mint,
no wherewithal to re-arrange.
No, nothing there. Just skint.

D.A. Prince

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  D.A. Prince would be pleased to hear them