FIVE LARGE, 5 Gs, 5 K .
. .
by
Di Schmitt
Five large for a life . . .
Or death.
Save a life, last-minute.
Death comes cheaper,
Long as it’s done right.
But 5 Gs . . . 5 K . . .
Is too much
For a slice of art
By someone so precious, so pretty,
Who I clearly love.
So far out of my league,
I bite my tongue
Till it bleeds.
Almost swallow it.
A double stuffed pork chop plate
Costs seventeen bucks.
For 5K . . .
I could get 588 chops.
Or 11+ inhalers
For my asthmatic cat.
Wheezing to death beneath that painting.
I’m not rich.
Like other poor slobs,
I waste money on Lotto.
Would a billion dollars earn your love?
Or just 200,000 art pieces?
(Paint faster, Precious.)
In the end,
We’re all back where we started.
Alone.
Five K won’t even cover burial costs.
But my body
would make an unusual sculpture . . .
It’s the only down payment I’ve got!
Di Schmitt sees herself as a female Bob Mitchum.
So do we.