Why Do You Always Think About Money?

A venting poem

“That looks great, babe.
I bet someone would pay $50
For that at the art fair this weekend.
Want me to sign us up?”

She was just finishing a painting
On six dollar canvas
With about five bucks worth of paint
And I was handing her a two dollar glass
Of her favorite $9.99 wine.

“Why do you always think about money?” she said,
As we sat on my hundred dollar couch
To cuddle
“Can’t you just do things for fun?”

I choked.
Five hundred in rent was due tomorrow
And with a couple thousand a month
From something other than my 9 to 5
We’d be as free as bluebirds

I could take you all across America,
Europe too
And we’d live in a van and write and sing all day
And have better wine than for $9.99

But I choked.

All I got out was:
“I don’t know…” I wanted to say I felt poor,
But that wasn’t…