Pay Day

May 1, 2016

On pay day
I read poetry
listen to the crooning
tunes of decades past.
Find classic novels hidden
in dusty cabinets and
really relate.

Most days
I do not care
to open my eyes.
Too cold for a jog and I
do not like the rain.
These days my pants
sag with empty pockets
except
for the dust of dirty
tissues.

But
on pay day
New York water
soaks my socks
drowns the spaces
between my toes
when I splash.

Don’t care much about
the dirt, only
the feeling.

I quote Maya Angelou
on these days
shop for exotic
teas with odd
fervor
research romantic
European getaways.

Wonder
what it might be like
to be a heroine
of great value
like the feminists
in story books and
on the history channel.

Wonder if money
concerns them.

It is for sixteen days
that I make plans.
So much to see
so much to do on
pay day. And so

I listen to old music
wait for the familiar
steps of a woman
who
delivers the checks.

Today

Maya sings
through the bars
of her cage

carrying the
sound through
my own walls
of existence

splashing in the
New York rain.

Tomorrow…

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