May 12, 2021
1 min read
When We Have More
Prose-poetry
breach. line at the pumps, plastic bags over the last drop. panic. all hoarders here. even when we have more, suckling the world, entitled bystanders, warning illiterates. sigh. reading teachers unite.
working eighty hours for eighty cents, looking at decades, I am over half-way there to the potential forced retirement, needing none of the no savings, anyway.
