Corn
She always has a lot of questions at bedtime.
She asks when will be the next time that I pick her up from school
and I explain again how I work Monday to Friday now
and can’t do school pick-ups these days.
Oh.
She asks how much money I make at my job
and I tell her my hourly wage
and she ask how much that is for the whole day
and I tell her.
That’s a lot, she says.
It sounds like a lot, I say,
but it all goes to rent and groceries
and she doesn’t quite understand
so I explain that after paying for our place to live and our food
there’s no money left.
Oh, she says. That makes me feel sad.
I see the opportunity to slide in a lecture,
something about why we need to be appreciative and not wasteful
and finish our meals and clean out plates
even when we don’t particularly want the dinner daddy made
and oh yeah
I really need to use the corn in the back of the fridge before it goes bad
I should really check what we have in there
I don’t want to waste anything either
And instead of a lecture I tell her we have everything we need
and we’re doing just fine
and that it’s really time for her to go to sleep so she can wake up tomorrow.
Besides, I think to myself,
our money problems will all be solved
once my poetry career takes off.
(2021).
