Food Bank. 

I offer my deposit with grievance,

flat palmed and open
I pay my mortgage with
tinned veg and harvest fruit.

My shoulder holds up twenty-seven
storeys, neediness an opiate
for penthouse no-faces. 
Brothers and sisters clasp
digits onto children’s necks
applying pressure. 

Vaults, dusty and grey
offer tin and wicker. 
Gold, silver and bronze
spent an eternity ago
on drinks with lunch
and white powder nasal spray
for clients. 

I spend my macaroni and cheese,
cylindrically sloshed on one
more days life. Eagerly anticipating
the dilution of the blue wave. 
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