He’s got a $100 bill
pressed to my forehead
and I’m shaking.
“Calm down,” I say
“we can work this out
let’s not be rash.”
And he snaps back with
“There’s no ‘let’s’ because there’s no ‘us’.
There’s me and you
but soon you’ll be outta here.”
He cocks back on Ben’s nose
and asks if I’d like to speak my mind
before it tumbles like spare change
on the pavement and down the street.
I beg, but it falls on deaf ears
like he’s just walking by, pretending I’m not there.
He says for every moment I waste
he’ll charge interest and tack it on to a principle.
I know he’s about to do it.
He focuses, and I examine my life,
the annual percentage of time well spent.
His arm shifts and he blows my right hand clean off.
“Now go out and make money,
you little son of a bitch.”
I run out into the cold night, clutching my stump,
only half as good at begging.