Poetry by Mikel K

From A Place

I was born without a dollar,
and I'm going to die in debt.

Are my expectations of me mine,
or do they still come from a place
now far away?

I can still see his face telling me;
I can still see his face telling me

How to say yes. How to say no.

Out Of Gas

You could say anything,
and I'd tell you that
I can only pay with a
credit card.

The panhandler slips
away sadly.