There is some money,
on the floor,
change,
from buying cigarettes,
and bread,
because there was nothing
to eat at home, this
morning when I woke up
to the sound of my
door opening to let
in the lady who
often picks up money
laying around the house,
or in the pockets of the
laundry she wrestles,
like clockwork, everyday,
even on fridays.
I am not here
I am trying
to be here.
Is anyone else
here?