Let's use our nicknames When we apply for this next job Even though it's past our bedtime And our current paycheck Can't shut up the muse Who mewls at the dinner table Begging for a crust of bread To sate the nightly terrors. For they come, don't they, Leaving empty spaces numbers Are supposed to fill. Buddy And Chip loaded their coffers Before the hard freeze. The ice burns our tongues As we swallow prosperity One parched drop at a time.
Copyright © 2012 by Sally Van Doren. Used with permission of the author.