Challenging Poetry

bleeding money

I bleed money over and over,
drops in crimson and fire engine,
in rust and poppy and chili pepper,
in cherry and grape and scarlet woman,
in copper penny and silver dollar.

I bleed money until the taste of it
never leaves my tongue,
salt-sweet it lingers, like the echo
of caramel on a tooth, hours after.

I bleed money—can’t you hear
the beeping as it leaves my veins?
each drop paid with the finality
of an old cash register, ringing
a new negativity.

I bleed money. someday soon,
I will have nothing left. as I prick my finger,
my answer will be: empty.

Okay, this went to a darker place than I thought it would when I started writing. I began by thinking I'd do something about the fact I have no job and so my bank account is kind of non-existent at the moment (graduate school . . . sigh) or that I need to get a job to make that bank account a bit more healthy, and pay off student loans (graduate school . . . sigh), but then I started thinking about the expenses that I have that don't go away. For me, right now, they're mostly medical.

And then, I started thinking about test strips--and how, the manufacturers here in the US, charge about $1/strip--and I check my blood sugar eight times a day, and I've lived without insurance before, with the diabetes, and it's difficult. But I have to test, otherwise, I may as well give up trying to stay on top of my blood sugar--so basically, it's true. I bleed money eight times a day (more if something is wrong) and I'm lucky I have insurance--although my insurance isn't going to cover that many (they'll cover about half) so I'm going to have to do the out of pocket thing, and I don't have a job . . . so yes, downward spiral there.

I'm not really depressed or angry--just resigned and frustrated, and writing more poetry about blood.