The enigma of where's the money
keeps this mind, these feet, always running;
trying to use up all my cunning
to stretch a dollar to twenty-five.
To survive,
stay alive and dream of thriving,
devoting life to love and the written word
instead of handing the receipt with falsified smile
and a "have a good day sir."

It's a dream of saying yes I can buy lunch
and no you don't need to raise my pay, I'm OK;
I work enough hours in the day
to let me get by more than fine.
To not have bills
and food
and rent on the mind,
but instead be designing the maze.
Not running running running through it
looking for quarters in the corners,
yelling "order up!"
while watching others eat the entrée.