I earn $23 in two hours selling chapbooks yesterday,
that puts me $7 over minimum wage,
which makes my time fill valued.
I am certain that means
I can a survive a day out
in various Western Massachusetts towns,
complete with transportation, food, and a few wants.
I find myself spending the absolute
last of my earnings
on hearty Hungarian mushroom soup
and something called spanikopita
before joining my family of poets
at our traditional second Thursday gathering.
Moments after last mouthful,
I realize I forgot to save $1 for copies
of still unwritten poem
I plan to have critiqued tonight.
Praying the library takes checks.