The semester grows,
and the piles of snow
make the sidewalk hard to traverse.
My bank account is thin
so I try to get in
to a job, although I'm exhausted.
It was a bad choice
and I'm overworked,
overwhelmed already with classes.
I come in for my shift,
just a week in,
tired but spritely,
needing a nap almighty,
and it turns out I've been fired.
The business can't afford me,
is what he says,
They're barely staying afloat.
I nod and cry, cry and nod,
thankful and about to explode.
More time for your classes,
my mother says,
my grandma says,
my friends say,
You weren't going to survive that anyways.
They're right, I know,
so I keep moving on
with time on my hands,
but poor.
By Dale Mott-Slater