Manhattan Sonnet - Living Here With No Money

Living here with no money is like going

   To battle with no air support—it sucks

Hot rivets.  You’re not fighting—you’re just throwing

   Yourself against a door that only bucks

Can buy you entry to; and when it’s closed,

   You’re outside looking in—a wannabe—

A poor sad fool whose fortune’s been foreclosed—

   A starving brute beneath a fruitless tree.

Is money that important here?  Is breath

   What our lungs need to live?  It’s the same thing:

You cut both off and it’s a gasping death;

   You let them flow and we keep soldiering.

      From grunt to REMF, we share the same condition:

      Money’s not just a tool—it’s ammunition.

 

Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells