If I could buy a miracle
dump my purse into a wishing well
and wait –
Angrily eye the grimy water
polluted with soggy dreams
piped in, sucked out
take a deep breath
and commit your dreams to a watery death.
The suits are marching past
briefcase wielding mercenaries
they pass this watering hole twice a day
and know better than to stop and drink.
Drowning copper pennies gleam like gold
lent an ethereal cast by the falling sun
as it sinks below the sterile metal and glass,
the streetlights flicker and ignite.
The man in the refrigerator box
drags his home noticeably closer
leans over the moss eaten barricade
and comes up clutching a handful of dull dreams
enough to sustain him for another week.