Anyway

*****

This heart hurts
These limbs are weak
This spirit is
Too sad to speak

It likely seems
They’ll take away
The phone she works on
Every day

Or so much money
There cannot
Anything
Be further bought

For that month’s
Remainder, oh
This is an all but
Mortal blow

Through daily slog
Domestic strife
Through poverty
Through painful life

She seeks but order
To create
Pain for all
Alleviate

But she will never
Gain back weight
If all that she can
Say she ate

Is plain potato,
Noodle, bean
With not a pat
Of butter e’en

Her nervous palate
To appease
Still less for hope
A bit of cheese

Perhaps it better
Is this way —
Phone’s getting heavy
Anyway