nickels and dimes—
yeah, i’ll nickel and dime you to death
while counting the pennies of my daily grind.
hard times?
lemme paint a picture for you:
a mother of four, seventy hours a week,
a few nickels and pennies a day—
that’s her “paycheck,”
her “reward”
for keeping them alive.
meager?
hell yes—meager.
coins you could lose
in the couch cushions,
less cents than sense,
not a single dollar to spare.
i try to be sensible—
try to make sense of cents—but
the world laughs at my sense,
discounts it, calls it nonsensical.
the dollar never sang for my supper,
so i sickle the wheat,
send it off to the miller,
hoping, praying, maybe someday
someone will turn my scraps
into something they can swallow.
and still, i count.
nickels and dimes.
pennies that weigh more than the whole of me.
but i keep counting anyway.
because what else is there to do
in this hard scrabble life,
where sense don’t count
and cents are all you’ve got?
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 7:11 AM UTC
nickels and dimes—
yeah, i’ll nickel and dime you to death
while counting the pennies of my daily grind.
hard times?
lemme paint a picture for you:
a mother of four, seventy hours a week,
a few nickels and pennies a day—
that’s her “paycheck,”
her “reward”
for keeping them alive.
meager?
hell yes—meager.
coins you could lose
in the couch cushions,
less cents than sense,
not a single dollar to spare.
i try to be sensible—
try to make sense of cents—but
the world laughs at my sense,
discounts it, calls it nonsensical.
the dollar never sang for my supper,
so i sickle the wheat,
send it off to the miller,
hoping, praying, maybe someday
someone will turn my scraps
into something they can swallow.
and still, i count.
nickels and dimes.
pennies that weigh more than the whole of me.
but i keep counting anyway.
because what else is there to do
in this hard scrabble life,
where sense don’t count
and cents are all you’ve got?
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