don’t invite me out, i’m broke. checking account like a ghost
haunting itself. savings account like bertha mason trailing the
manor desperate for blood. debit card is a fucking debit card. credit
score a fever dream in the desert for the last twenty years, a whole
history of sub-zero scores across the blaring board. six hours of
sleep like a six-course meal if you’re down to chew. my heart
rabbitting in my chest at the denouement of the month. broke like
the trust fund died in the womb from a whole generation of back
breaking. broke as in the mattress ziplines across the floor whenever
i reach for you. broke as in my mouth can’t form the word poor
because it’s already full from shame, the guilt stuck between the
molars. another year flying broke bois united by which i mean i’m
throwing up on the bus again, my stomach a cartoon wall blasted
through by wile e. coyote. i order a whiskey shot before the friday
deposit and genuflect when it goes through. broke as in the second
job is a grinning wraith taking up rent in the back of my mind. tell
me what to do about the student debt dangling from my ankle in the
ocean. how i close my eyes against the overdraft and wish for an
uber ride to the nowhere beyond the clouds. i pray to god i will
never be too poor to howl at the sunrise.
