$6.45
holes in my shoes
out of cigarettes
and only a few coins left
trudge over to the store
stack the change on the glossy counter
the clerk is very accommodating
counting the dimes and nickels
the quarters have been gone for days
and pennies are far too tragic
for spending
with no disdain
but I hate her anyway
especially when she quotes
the final figure
“looks like you have –pause- $6.45 sir”
the way she pauses is what does it
like I didn’t already count it
as if she is enlightening me
with her advanced grasp on mathematics
insane flashes of violence
pulse through my mind
if I’m using change
I’m obviously living in poverty
and if I’m living in poverty
every nickel is certainly accounted for
I know how much change I have
but I can’t be angry with the clerk
I’m really just hungry
and buying cigarettes instead of food
Ryan Hardgrove is a published poet. His consciousness has grown and meandered like a weed throughout his 27 years crawling upon this rock. He now lives in a small apartment along the Ohio River, just two miles north of Pittsburgh, PA. When he is not writing, he is tending bar downtown or pacing on his fire escape smoking cigarettes.
