Dollars by Donna Dallas

I want to stop thinking about $
plagues me like it’s a death
an end
shrouds any sense I could have had

Bills gotta get paid
I try to conjure up a genie
from this lantern
rub away at the
smooth brass carvings
they meant something
in another life perhaps
not this one
not this day
as I weep

Rub my fingers together
feel a grainy scrape
no dollars appear
look to the clouds
bloated and gray
if I had a nickel or a quarter 
for every knee jerk
every stomach drop
all the nicks in the road
if I could be that money whore
I’d be divinely rich

but one very sad

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