Pushing Daisies Poem by Robin Bennett

Remember starting out, penniless-
I was so picky back then.
Searching only for coins,
facing heads up.
Mamma always said-
" men are a dime a dozen."
I was broken years ago,
barely able to rub two
nickels together.

Mamma used to preach-
that I needed to find a rich man.
Wealth snubs this side of the tracks-
Success here is to, make it past
sixteen without becoming pregnant.
Or selling your Jordan's
for dope money.

The streets are full of art,
Bright white chalk sketches,
line the streets.
Outlines of the last night's,
body count.
Graffiti, the poetry-
of the streets, marks each
sad and miserable surface.

Mamma, keeps saying-
there are millions of other fish
in the sea. I did reel in
a shark once, but he chewed
me up and spit me out.

So baby, it's still you and me.
Dodging bullets, and eating
fish sticks on Friday nights.
You're spending my rare
coins drinking yourself into
an early grave.
Soon enough you'll-
be pushing daises,
under the wrong,
side of the tracks.