I.
This is my last bill.
Last time I have to
Worry
About being asked for money.
Spent, I think I’ll go try to remember what
I did before I knew what
An allowance was.
II.
In your exchange we’re
All equal, survivors that-
Even with nothing- must
Be accounted for. It’s a
Right,
Freedom’s bloodiest gift.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem