There’s always something going on
with oil over there,
and now it’s hard to hear
about monster trucks at the fair.

Everything is so big and thirsty, I
don’t know how to appease wanting.
Stomach rumbling, soul grumbling, body
fumbling for purchase
or purchases,
we’re no longer sure of which one.

I frequently mumble to myself
“That’s the way you do it,”
but there’s never any
money for nothin’.
Could save all the pennies I earn,
but they still don’t come close
to filling the proverbial bucket.

Fuck it.
The damn thing is empty
and we’re still trying not to kick it.
I won’t drop my ashes in
any kind of container
if you won’t.