Liquid Assets

The app says I’m fine. The numbers are blue.

I bought the sourdough that costs six dollars,

and the gas that makes the engine stop knocking.

I should be happy, or at least less of a scholar

of my own misery. But I’m over the sink,

eating a slice of turkey over a paper towel.

The twenty in my pocket is crisp and clean,

but my stomach is giving a low, hungry growl

for something that isn't for sale at the store.

I feel like a thief who got away with the loot,

standing in a kitchen that’s finally warm,

with a mouth full of dry, expensive fruit.