by Monica Delgado
Soaring through the sky, past the home
In the clouds, that I said would be sweeter
Than a fresh box of See’s chocolates
And warmer than a pine-filled stove.
What is a dollar worth, if it’s not tied to gold?
We’ll have to repent when we can’t pay rent,
Because we bought into the stock market
Fueling an irrational, avaricious scheme.
I’m sickened by what I see, nearly seizing:
Attempting to comfort those who we love
Assuring them that things will be alright
Tomorrow is a new day! Go, run, play.