She's cuddled beside me
in the front seat of the truck
as we watch the moon
rippled upon the waves,
bundled beneath the comforter
which once covered our bed.
She's so, so warm...
last week we'd have begged for fever
to fog the windows as we slept.
At least tonight's kinder;
we can crack the windows with the doors locked
so the warm, gentle breeze
can run its fingers through our hair
and remind us of times
when this was a luxury.
Another two days
before the check comes in;
we'll get her a couple good meals.
God knows she deserves that.

For better, for worse,
richer, poorer...
we both grew up poor,
knew what buzz-saw hunger felt like.
We got to know the better
for a few years,
did okay even when
we both got sick the first time.
The cancer, though...
that was the beginning of the end
of better.
We both lived through it,
if you want to call
what we do now living.
Nothing special about us;
the story's been told a
couple million times
in the last five or six years.
You hear about the before
and the after...
but rarely, the during
as the slow juggling of
one or two bills
becomes more and more manic
as one by one
another is added
until
         inevitably
one by one
they're
dropped.
The choices are easier for a while
as you're pulled down Maslow's pyramid;
food or internet,
a roof over your head
or paying the power bill late.
Thought we'd actually make it when
I got the second job;
then she lost hers
and the unemployment ran out.
You know, I worked two full-time jobs
and played out weekends
when I was 20,
and lasted almost a year
until I fell over.
You know...
I'm not 20 anymore.
I just couldn't do it for very long.
That's when the choices got tough.
Gas to get to work...or food.
Medicine...or food.
Rent...or food.
One morning, I opened my eyes
with my heart thrashing,
a salmon in the bear's jaws.
Disability payments the same
as two weeks' take home pay.
Last time I checked,
there's still four weeks and a third
in a month.
The landlady did what she could
as long as she could.
She's got bills to juggle, too.
We found a nice little efficiency.
We found a nice room.
We found a crack-house motel.
We found it better to find
a parking spot for the truck,
and here we are.
The rent's only the cost of the plate
and a few gallons of gas;
in the words of the rental agents, cozy,
with the best view the fuel will allow.
We huddle, helpless
to douse the fire in her body,
no place to take her
and no way to get her there
until the check comes
in a couple of days.
I'd have gladly died
to spare her this;
now, that'd be the coward's way.
I pray that my heart outlives her
so that she doesn't die alone
in the front seat of a God-forsaken truck
on a deserted beach
in what once
was Paradise.