What Happened To The Monthly Budget


Swear it was here a
second ago,
that fat paycheck
from the bloodless
womb you call a
cubicle for centuries
every week.

Green columns lie
in ruins from impulse
buys gone bad.
Our booze allotment has run
over with the entertainment
tabs we’ve indulged.
Sins from the discount store
have come home to
roost in red.

Someone says they saw
our delusional retirement,
slick with the BPA
off sales receipts, fleeing
from yet another sunset.

NaPoWriMo #2

I’m writing a poem a day in April as part of NaPoWriMo’s writing challenge. We may be able to live without poetry, but who would want to?


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