The Sky is Falling
In wintry basement light, J counts pips on the die.
Do you want to buy? — never mind, buy with tiny money.
P sells Pennsylvania Avenue
to J, who builds a beaming house.
P & J play at buying up gardens and walks
in blues and greens and oranges
until the car dies and J has to pay rent.
It's okay, you don't have to pay
— I do have to pay! But I can’t pay!
says J, with chapped lips and wet eyes.
J may halve her purchase price—but hey,
why does it keep dripping there?
And up past her pointed finger,
I see a brown stain blooming.