Home is where the Haart is

I'm only interested in money,
I'll be completely frank;
Employment isn't rewarding,
It's money in the bank.

I don't care for satisfaction
Or try to build rapport.
I work to build up my account
Lest I should ever be poor.

Practical in domestic life,
I make my house my own.
I'm landlord to my loving wife:
Her loss won't cost my home.

My only passion is my car
It complements my style;
At twenty-six I've tried so far
To earn through every mile.

Autumn again

On each grey morning is given out
The lifeless, monotonic cold.
For each year, as it grows old.

Sickly gorged is the grass:
Swollen, unhealthy rain
Smears glass with streaky grain.

Defiant in death the yellow leaves,
Lamps lighting torn crumpled days,
Blown against cloudy greys.

Anonatomy

The arms at the side
Keep the hands in their place

And the nose on the front
Keeps the glasses on the face

Yellow and black and dead

Dear wasps, pray remember: stay indoors in November