It’s a chilling feeling
seeing that sic glass ceiling
crash and cut one of us,
watching a vital man
go from do to try
then try to die,
cause he can’t get by.

I do fine,
killing time
cause I can afford to
waste it and still make do.

But it is strange when
I see other men, women,
and children suffering,
got a tinge of guilt
from the cushion I built
cause it’s not paradise,
but still a pretty comfy life.

What a ****** in this summer
to see single moms struggling,
juggling two jobs and terror
cause the virus out there
will **** them faster
than the poverty in here.

So, what if I pass a ten
to a stranger on the corner
every now and then.
No big deal
that I try to make people feel
a little more joy
and a lot less ill.

It’s just a little friction,
not even a fraction of the resistance
needed to slow the sad decline
of these troubling times.