(c) 01/16/2022
Before I know it, it’s time for another spin around the
sun.
This time, my studio, with its small comforts is enough—
a home-sewn quilt and pillows,
cracks in need of plaster and fresh paint,
a pipe any plumber could fix. Efficient.
I think that’s the word agents use.
For years I have thought about
what I am owed—what I’ve earned—
what I deserve—
all loss and no gain.
Another spin around the sun, and I am stealing—
toilet paper and cups of coffee in the breakroom.
Holes in my pantyhose lacquered to my skin.
I can only stretch my wages so far.
I am unbalanced,
struggling to be rational amid the chaos—
Justice does her best to serve.
Another spin around the sun—
I sweep butts and leaves
off the Hyatt parking lot
wearing $800 suits.
Are the streets all the same,
or am I different?
It is time again—
instead of celebrating, I’m ruminating.
Justice and I weigh my childhood memories
against today’s heart,
my reticence to change,
against my desire for something better,
my dreams against my choices.
I am no more honest than anyone else,
no braver.
Justice does her best.
