It’s the end of August and we are
Low on money
Like the last summer
And the summer before that
It never ends…
It’s always like this
It will be always like this
Not exactly poverty but
A chronic lack of money,
A need to economize,
To watch your spending,
Cutting down on smoke and some food; all booze is out
Forget about clothes,
Shoes,
Socks,
Movies,
Books,
Going out,
Picnics,
Bus rides.
Hand lotion.
Pizzas,
Phone calls,
You name it…
It gets you
Year after year:
Not exactly poverty--
Just a lack of money.
And here I am,
Writing poetry.
Who gives a damn about poetry?
Yet
I persevere,
While
We economize,
Watch our spending,
Plan carefully.
Well,
At least I
Don’t have to economize
On words:
There are plenty of them
Absolutely free of charge.
I’m glad that
Writing doesn’t require much
Neither special investments nor
Expensive supplies
Just something to write on:
A piece of paper,
An old notebook.
An empty cartoon pack,
A wall,
Your skin,
My own bare ass:
In short,
Anything to scribble on.
Plus
A lot of madness
To make it
A bit more INTERESTING.