I write in the mornings, first thing,
and I want my pens where I placed them last time.
Black ink, V5s.
And here I am scribbling with a marker
you got at that conference last summer in Hillside.
“2022” it reads.
“I’m sorry,” you say.
The soft words of your deposit
encourage my acceptance of their kindness
and suddenly,
There is new money
in this old bank.
I’m thankful for that.
I’m thankful for you,
this Great Design, and now
my pen inked blue.
May 9, 2023
May 9, 2023 at 6:18 PM UTC
I write in the mornings, first thing,
and I want my pens where I placed them last time.
Black ink, V5s.
And here I am scribbling with a marker
you got at that conference last summer in Hillside.
“2022” it reads.
“I’m sorry,” you say.
The soft words of your deposit
encourage my acceptance of their kindness
and suddenly,
There is new money
in this old bank.
I’m thankful for that.
I’m thankful for you,
this Great Design, and now
my pen inked blue.
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