How to Live On Nothing

By November 13, 2010Lessons Learned, Oceania, On Life

On Wednesdays they clean out
the fridge. Milk, two days expired.
A jar of homemade cranberry sauce,
unlabeled for the taking but you will
never eat. The bread dusted with
mold like an early snow won’t hurt
you. Be kind to the travelers. One gives
you peanut butter before he
leaves. They will always leave
their scraps behind with bigger
things to eat out there. Read long
books and sleep as much as your tossing
thoughts will let you. I know without
the wine restive feet will churn the sheets
to butter but you still will wake up
hungry. Toast peanut butter toast
free jam. But only enough for one
PB&J. Free tea, sugar, steal someone’s
milk, just a bit. Talk to strangers and
give up smoking. No, not when you’re
this lonely. I’d love a glass of wine.
Bitter velvet chill too soon passed.
Can I bum a smoke? But never take
their last. Call the one who always
understood this brand of poverty. Steal
his affections cloaked and stashed
like the squirrel who knows
there’s always a winter next. But those
won’t keep for long. Best if Used By:
someone else. Grilled cheese
grilled cheese grilled cheese peanut
butter toast clean the toilets make the beds
take a hike but you don’t have the right
shoes for that. Maybe steal hers
she’s left them out. What a foolish
girl to trust this world like that. No,
you aren’t that famished yet. Watch only
your tattered feet as you walk
sharpening ragamuffin eyes
to the elusive spark of change
on pavement. Stack five dollars and forty
cents into piles by your bed like discarded
trophies and watch them not go
anywhere. The very first thing you
have managed to save in your life.

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