Three Dollars and Some Unmentionable Cents by Graham Smith
I am tired
the lights have gone dim.
three dollars should get me to school.
to a spool of steel
that keeps my hands in line.
everybody always staring.
Wet from rainstorms
worse for wearing
like a rat in a trap
If I move then pain, If I don't, then death.
line upon line of vain garbage
why in the world do I continue?
where are we walking?
I am frenetically pacing, like a guide
without a brochure
and I have no clue
how to lead this museum tour.
feeling ever so unimpressed, and ever so chilled,
the sky is slate, but I digress
for text will make me ill.
though sickness seems in these fast days,
although it slows me down,
although it slugs around,
to bring a brand of rye appeal.
I am quitting
to get to loathesome duty.
It's the only path to staying beauty.