Tributational

Money, not guns

terribly in totality

lifts our shame -

protectors, not us

divisible by uncertainty

tainted by our

forefathers, who once all

had mothers themselves.

selfishly, i lick the envelope

stick a stamp,

say I’m done.

and holler for every time

a woman

was placed or replaced

by a man.

my country tis of thee,

sweet land in effigy,

of thee i

hold my breath

1,2,3,4,5…

it’s just us again, a fear to get to 10,

and more numbers.

e pluribus unum

take a buck, take a drive,

feel your cheek on the cold marble

this is a hold up, so hold it up.

and just let go. watch it

DROP.

and please

remember

to keep

the

change.