He has a truckload of money 

But he can’t hang currency notes on the wall 

He hangs Picasso, and other names

This is undeniably a privilege he enjoys

For him the known faces are bigger and better

Those abstract forms never ignite his imagination

That doesn’t go beyond a bagful of currency notes

With a malevolent smile spread across his face

Last night I found him calling someone 

To keep a seat for him at the art auction