the bills are piling up again,
but that’s okay, we’ve been here
before.

old veterans of poverty,
the highs when it’s good and
the fridge is half full, and the lights
have stayed on for weeks.
and the lows, the lows,
when the collection notices come,
and the cupboards are bare,
and you’ve got to decide between
the heat or the electric bill.

it’s a good thing we’re seasoned
in the art of living on a tattered string.
one last thread hanging on with
everything that it’s got.
the church is nice enough
to also send us mail.

it tells us, “the end is coming.”
they don’t know,
it’s already here.
they couldn’t handle the fire
like we do. with such grace
and class, and cutting plates
of food in half to last.

they don’t know the world
keeps on going
and going
and going
even when the landlord
hikes the rent and medication
is worth a month in groceries.

ah, we are lucky, you see.
we’ve been here before,
riding out the fire,
becoming beasts in the
face of it. so the bills
don’t matter that much,
this time around.