there’s a stench in the laundry room,
but I won’t touch it;
I wait for Elizabeth to become disgusted enough to take out the trash

she is anal with cleanliness
and not anal enough with her mind;
I can’t believe she’s lived with me for two years

every few months I chew all my nails off
and let the dirty clothes pile up;
I just go and buy new outfits each week

I don’t have to shower
or worry about bills

ninety grand earning interest while I drive a Honda
with over 100,000 miles

I won’t shake hands with the men at the bank;
their fingertips always seem to touch the most inappropriate grooves
while they thank me for my business

I don’t complain about money
or time
or what I’ll have for dinner

I don’t even complain when my mother says there’s too much grey in my hair

I can sometimes hear my grandmother whispering for me to do something with my words
- make them count
- make them worthy of your hands

when she died, the items she left me were taken by my father

he would say I eat too much
as he'’d pull a candybar from his pocket

- that pocket, empty now, but I still smell the chocolate

I usually don’t think about the money;
I know it should be for a house some day,

but lately I figure earning interest towards a future
I may not live to see
isn’t the best way to save.

01/24/2009

Posted on 01/24/2009
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