Chronicles of I – #2

I took some money from the drawer; it gathered in a pile. I watched the pile dwindle slowly and consistently in time, as though I would never be content with any amount of it. I kept taking money from that sacred drawer, and it just as consistently flew away, never to be grasped again by my own hands. Then the drawer dried up; I had nowhere to go for a currency fix. I asked everybody I knew if they had drawers they could lend to me, and they gave me the cumulative stink eye. I was alone in my destitution, doomed to traipse along a desert of moneylessness. Parched, weak, tired, and overall just not a happy camper.

Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

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