Lay It Bare

I know you’re hungry for it.

More money. More news. Desperate

for any laurel that parades you

as happier than you know

you are. A car. A cruise. Some haircut

reeking so deeply of depression

no one with a nose could miss it.

Making more each year. Spending

more. The pride of how little

time you have to spare. I know

I embarrass you, still living

on expired food I find, dented tuna

I squirrel away, spending at a pace slower

than a pulse. Slow, that’s what

I have. I’m not happy either.

I walk past bars where flush people

drink. Markets where I dumpster

what I eat. Down streets quiet enough

to hush the last ten years. Parks

dark enough to find Gemini, Lyra.

I don’t wish you were poor.

I wish you were here.