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Poem

My accountant said I'm officially poor,
so I headed out to the grocery store.
Food now costing so much more.
Preparing tuna casseroles, eating spaghetti
striving to keep track of every penny,
is making me anxious, my palms now sweaty..
Gas prices may have stabilized but every thing
else continues to rise, even every day household supplies..
Merchants smile at you so you think their the nicest
and claim that it's all post pandemic prices or that limited
supplies have caused this food crisis..
I've said no to Lancome and designer jeans as I struggle
to stay with in limited means. My bank account chronically
seems to be lean..
It's not much fun being poor, especially if one's known
money before. I'm starting to ask what else is in store?
Let freedom ring from sea to sea but America is no longer free.
I'll keep on working at 73.

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