Subtraction

The number flashed, a tiny digital stab.

Exactly what I guessed, a meager grab

of hours sold, of spirit spent.

A bitter taste, a thin lament.

No good coffee today, no little treat,

just another round of making ends meet.

The rent demands its pound of flesh,

the phone bill shrieks, a tangled mesh.

I picture the stub, thin as a lie,

'Gross' a promise, 'Net' a sigh.

The taxman takes his hungry cut,

leaving my future tightly shut.

This constant math, this tired sum,

a meager feast, a hollow drum.

It leaves me short, it leaves me cold,

a story whispered, rarely told.

Another month, another scrape,

just trying to escape.