I’m So Poor

Monday, August 31, 2020

I’m so poor my credit card has a credit card.

It’s over the limit, and the limit is about a million bucks.

I’m so poor my mom is now blind.

I’m so poor that when I try to eat a kidney bean i break my teeth. My tooth.

I’m so poor I named my dog “tatters.”  My mom can’t even see my dog now. She just whispers “come here, tatters.”

I’m so poor my girlfriend left me for a coat stand. And then she left the coat stand.

I’m so poor my shoes have to walk themselves to the library. In the rain. They’re currently halfway through The Tipping Point.

I’m so poor my feet shriveled up. “Great, now I have no feet,” I keep muttering. Poor mom, she can’t even tell what time it is.

I’m so poor I’m the subject of a new Broadway musical— called “Poor.”

I’m so poor I don’t even have a college education anymore. It left me for a coat stand. And it turns out the coat stand is gay.

I’m so poor I spend most of my time trying to build a pyramid out of kidney beans. But I only have the one bean.

I’m so poor I can’t afford to floss, so I have no gums, and I have no mouth. And I hate my face.

I’m so poor Santa Claus sent me an IOU. He sent me two IOUs, and the second one was forged.

I’m so poor my knees look like ants. Giant pink ants. At least that’s how I picture them when I’m taking a bath.

I’m so poor my coat stand left me for another woman, and even SHE was totally broke. She pawned my pea coat. I heard she got five dollars. She would have pawned my hat too, but by then my hat didn’t exist.

I’m so poor they’re using me, verbatim, as the script for a new sitcom. They’re not even giving it a title. And there’s only one actor, Brad Dourif.

I’m so poor I can’t afford to shut my eyes anymore. They sit there like walnuts. Giant pink walnuts.

I’m so poor it ought to be illegal how poor I am. They ought to lock it up and throw away the key. Or return the key to lost and found.

I’m so poor that when I got up the nerve to kill myself I had to cut off my fingers to use as bullets. But by then I couldn’t afford to pull the trigger. And I’d sold all my gunpowder for floss. And I had no face.

I’m so poor I can no longer remember what I didn’t like about Johnny Carson OR Johnny Cash.

I’m so poor there’s a disease named after me. It’s not even a disease yet, officially. It’s a hang up.  They named a tendency after me. They called it— “Poor.”

I’m so poor my wallet is lying drunk in a gutter somewhere wishing it could talk. It memorized some Robert Lowell poems. It’s just my wallet, though. It knows that.

I’m so poor now the devil doesn’t want my soul anymore. He gave it back and said I could keep whatever he’d traded for it. He even forgot what he’d traded for it. And when I wouldn’t take it back he said he didn’t care.

• • •

One Response to “I’m So Poor”

  1. Your favorite student (2004/5) Says:

    🤣 good one Aaron

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