The more you think about stuff,
Not important stuff, just stuff.
It feels like all stuff becomes
Increasingly important.
A napkin can’t be wasted.
Use a cloth rag. The rag needs
Washing. Wait. There’s no more soap.
Someone has it worse, you say,
Rented roof over your head.
Always someone has it worse.
Someday you will have it worse.
Meanwhile you count everything.
Crumpled singles. Hospital
Bills in the drawers with extra
Supplies leftover from when
You came home with free samples
To change your own bandages.
How many days to payday.
How many miles to this tank.
How much to service the car.
When you can get groceries.
You care so much about things,
Stupid materialist.
Sing along now. In heaven,
Everything is fine. You got
Your good things, and I’ve got mine.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.