This work is about the problem that many of us face when we have money, and then all of a sudden, we do not have money. No, it doesn’t likely rhyme and there are no fairies. Get the notions of High School Poetry out of your head. I recently transitioned from being self-employed to a 9-5, with a kicker 5-9 job to boot, and the change has caused quite a panic. What was living feast to famine has become a slow, dragging form of simple malnourishment. Of course, I am only referring to my bank account and my mounting millennial debt, and not my actual lack of food, not there yet. If this message were on Twitter, like the poem is in mutated form, I would hashtag 1st world problems.

People usually love Twitter or hate it outright. I myself hated this form of expression at first but have become interested in both the power and emptiness that exists within. The same can be said for poetry. There is a lot of garbage on Twitter and a lot of garbage poetry. If you adjust who you follow on Twitter, it can become a nice place to visit throughout dreary days and in the between when we find ourselves craving to be connected. I find myself going down various rabbit holes and in the act of reading more on Twitter than say, Facebook, but both have their moments.

For this experiment, I tweeted a stanza at a time and added to adjust to the form of our modern birdy marvel. Various hashtags and my link to this site were even added if they fit. If not, then not. Probably what I like most about Twitter is the brevity, something I could use even now. Giving yourself less to work with, word-wise can be a nice challenge. I often dream of small snippets of existence in the night and wonder if they would fit within the character limit. I have fun with the act of deleting unnecessary words and getting the message just right.

This poem can be found @marcdcrepeaux in backwards with various hashtags, sent into the oblivion, or below in the traditional format. Both have their interest. Although I did not write this poem for Twitter, I will likely try this again. Your feedback, as always Dear Reader, is appreciated.

If you like my poetry, more can be found in Worked Stiff: Poetry and Prose for the Common

 

Feast or Famine

 

I work hard with fear of a friend called death at my stern

Good to remember these lost moments of worry

Yet I fail, time and time again

 

Then, the fruits of labor from nowhere

Seem to somehow fall right into my lap

An oblivious result of my frenzied panic

 

At once, I feel flush and act as a fool

Remove the famine from my hideous thoughts

What reprieve has befallen me!

 

The cavalry has crested the hill

See them there to free me from bewilderment?

I always knew they were riding, so fast, so strong

 

I peel off the dollars as the lucky ape that I am

My eye turned away from the famine

Groceries fall from the sky, into my belly

 

Old debts paid, lines in the sand forgotten

Wet tide of safety washes over

A cocoon lay with a hole in the bottom

 

This leak spills money in droves, so flush, so willing

Only a matter of time before fear swells in with the tide

Small panic sets in and a hasty recount is made

 

Oh no! There is little left to keep a forever feast

Time is against my dwindling fortune

Bills already sent, prices paid for noncompliance

 

Oh no! Fear eats away at my reserves, chews from my pile

In the night the sea has swelled

By dawn, waves subside and reveal the ugly truth

 

I have nothing, am nothing once again

That is why I must work

Feared frenzy fills my wretched veins all over

 

My old friend, what took you so long to set at my bedside?

Can you hear the cavalry over the hill?

No, not yet, better for us to keep going