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by Chris Sorrenti

An endless procession of decimal points, dollar signs;
so simple when laid out monthly,
yet so little left before each pay.

“Where does it go so quickly?” you ask yourself,
trying to squeeze a payment out of
what could be a week’s worth of groceries,
as you drift off on a mathematical daydream of winning the lottery,
how nice it’d be to spend an entire paycheque on yourself.

© 1996

590 hits as of January 2021


Posted on 01/19/2015
Copyright © 2021 Chris Sorrenti

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 01/20/15 at 03:22 AM

At my age I deal with this almost daily. Sometimes I wonder if it is really worth all the effort. Good write Chris.

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