Gold coins jingle
against the curve of her hip.
September.
The spare change falls
like the beat of her
tambourine.
Milk chocolate curls
circle her shoulder-blades.
Breathe in freedom. Breathe out poverty.

Bronze pennies soak
into the rain-washed streets.
October.
Boston is cooling,
A stranger
sees a broken man tremble
and offers a steaming sandwich
and bus fare.
Breathe in freedom. Breathe out poverty.

Colored bills crumble
in her tight hip-fitted jeans.
November.
Lipstick still intact.
Thumb lifted
to the highway,
she climbs
into his truck.
Breathe in freedom. Breathe out poverty.