The mailman brings another rejection-
the local journal which always buys
my stories and poems, no matter
how bad. My husband receives a letter
from Unemployment Insurance, stating
we owe them $912 for an overpayment
they gave us, their mistake.

Yesterday we sold the kids' skates
for $25 and finally had milk
for breakfast. Two days earlier
it had been a joke. I said:
Troy, we have to buy milk,
and he said: Can't they just have toast
for breakfast? then realized
we didn't have any bread.
We laughed and laughed.

I wonder how long friends will continue
to see me, considering how often I evade
their requests to go shopping, see shows,
do lunch. I broke down and told one of them:
We never go for lunch.
We don't have the money.
I told her how far beneath the poverty line
we live and she wouldn't look at me
but began crying her own blues,
the mortgage payments of two homes,
something I know nothing, will never
know anything about.

Today all I want from life is a peanut butter
and banana sandwich, but the bread's
for the kids and bananas are expensive.
Today even that's out of reach.