he comes home with clouds
hovering over new joy
(where we could be free)
but then i must ask:
is freedom found in money?
so hard to answer
those without know best:
lack of money’s a prison
choking month to month
those with all know best:
too much money is a trap
biting claws of greed
it was just enough
for shoes, road trips, water parks
just enough to breathe
i want that freedom–
monthly-cycle jail-cell break
so far from the clouds
focus on beach time
not the lost stakes, the thunder,
the flat tire hell
not the life critique,
lack of lobster, the car bed
(just the grinning sand)
be ready to grin
to back-stab, brown-nose your key
into their pockets
to be ignored, spent
keys in hand, ready to turn
(but it’s the wrong lock)
where is the right lock?
where can i turn them with ease?
whose damn keys are these?
rather than turn locks
i will remain taciturn
and find the right key
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