I worry when we need milk
and wonder where the daily bread will come from.
Too many survive famine.
Child support is over a week late.
The Department holds the money it collects from others,
on behalf of others, extra days,
in an interest-bearing account.
The Department makes more money
that way, it adds up in
arrears and years that cannot be spent
growing and splitting heirs.
The college decisions are coming in.
We all wonder where this will take us.
We need to pick a meal plan. She will not starve,
she hopes-
they better have good coffee.
While driving to take the truck in for an unknown repair,
the sky held up its coolest winter blue,
the air was crisp like minted dollars,
and I could not take my eyes off the sky
while riding home.
It said everything.
And utterly cloudless,
when I spy a shuttlecock of white, like a flash, in contrast to the blues,
I watched this meteoric figure against the broad daylight
falling, fading, falling,
and finally, disappearing into the sky,
it all sunk in.
Like small talk, no granular attention is paid.
Burned up. I am broke anyway.
Just like today. This week, I am weaker
than gravity.
Lighter with empty pockets and incinerating
into nothing,
but solid air pumping in and out of the chest
like fire and ice,
all the elements are there and it is enough
for a poem.
Photo credit By Clivelindsay at English Wikipedia, 'Comet McNaught with moon setting over the sea' [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
