Version One

It’s not about the money
it’s about what the money could have bought
the floor that needs replacing
the new kitchen in my bigger house
the prevalent, closest dream
of taking my kids to Disney

and I’m so stupid in having
already told them
already filled their minds with
images of Cinderella castles
and hugging Mickey Mouse

It’s not about the money
it’s about our credibility
our trustworthiness
about the thousands of dollars
we have already footed

only to be knocked on our asses
because they can’t send the bill
to the right place
because no one sent me the right card
because they charged us for something
that we didn’t do

and I see it all in a broken
jar that we will
never be able to fill
and no matter how hard I work
no matter how carefully
I pinch my pennies,

for reasons out of my control
I cannot fill
that cracked glass,
and it’s cutting me,
not the money,
to pieces.

Version Two

I am here now
but not here
somewhere else
lies my mind
not in the pounding skull
not in my aching heart
but elsewhere

wish I could find
the place that
is sticky sweet with warmth
the windless sunny day
that smiles on my dreams

but I sit with my rump
hardened
the pain shooting through my veins
a deer in headlights
words escaping out the door
to chase the thoughts that
left hours ago

my vacuous smile
sucking the life from within
and all I want,
everything that my soul desires,
is too far away for me to reach.