Money in My Pocket
I’d rather have a poem in my pocket
because you can’t sell a poem.
This poem in my pocket
is like money in the bank
and a small stream way, way back
in the mountains with fish the size
of my palm, fish the size of my arm,
fish swimming behind the lids of my eyes
as I dream the dreamless sleep of summer.
And still, I’d rather have a poem
in my pocket than a fish.
This poem in my pocket to remind me
that when I’ve got no money
and rivers full of fish to take clients to
who put money in my pocket
I’ve got to put the clients on the fish.
But mostly I’ve got to have this poem
because come winter it’s all I’ll have
when the money’s gone.