At certain times of my financial cycle
I like to pretend your opportunity shop
does not exist.
Spare me the rags to riches story
that glorious tale of suffering salvaged
by the smell of someone else’s perfume.
I prefer my secondhand news dry-cleaned
as if new. Pardon my preciousness
but do you have anything but size 6 shoes?
The smell of used linen, washed too much,
the deterrence of energy in synthetics
the remnants of egg yolk in a soft Pooh Bear –
these are reminders I am not you. And could be.