last dollar

The intricate ways of spending a last dollar.  Halfway to a coffee, plus change from under the car seat equals a whole coffee.  Add several coupons and a last dollar can become a few cans of cat food, two packs of gum.  If you were a different sort, a last dollar could be exchanged for a ticket: to a ride, to a place, to a chance for more dollars.  But you like tangible exchanges. This piece of brittle green paper for that concrete thing.  Can, cup, piece of ribbon from a fabric store. Thin piece of shiny paper.  A crow in a human, that’s you. Turn a last dollar into some fraction of a gallon of gas and no place to go: a dollar for a way to pass an unemployed afternoon. Or keep it to roll your last three cigarettes with, this is another possibility. Lay it out on the coffee table and study the intricate patterns, boring overall design. Why isn’t American currency flashy and colorful like China’s money, or Mexico’s? Even the practical euro has three or four shades of blue; U.S. bills are faded greens. Dragging greenbacks. Seems there’s not enough joie de vivre today to use your last dollar as anything but a bookmark.


About emvlovely

Oh, I live in an RV. I write poems, essays and prose. Thanks for reading my blog, good health to you!
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One Response to last dollar

  1. Joanie says:

    Is this a literal or figurative last dollar? Or maybe I’d rather not know…

    Another thought about spending a last dollar – how about buying a lottery ticket, or maybe, instead, save it for a rainy day?

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