10 Toes Down

i leave home in the three-thirty dark
while the desert is still cold & breathe
the clean dirt smell risen by the rain. i try
to find a formula for the grind: slide on
my Poormans & skate six miles to work; stash
the extra in the duffle & keep both
eyes on the bag. if i make five at lunch
that’s fifty. need twelve a day for the rent
on the first. can only afford four hours sleep.
i have gotten better at math than hoping
the numbers will add up in my favor or
even be equal. i no longer care how
much my body must be taxed before i can
be free. the bill is past due.