you won’t make any money
you have to be able to support yourself
you’re smart maybe you could
be something useful

my heart imagined
a world where i was
poor & hungry sitting
on street corners
tattered sign in hand
like sad margaret,
the beggar woman,
who walked the streets
& sold her tits for money

she cried loudly
everyday
no words just moans
but still the men stopped
to pay her
sad margaret ate but
stayed hungry

i wondered if
she still dreamed
about what did she
wanted to be like
a kid answering
the question

on the threat of hunger
& becoming another
sad margaret
i refashioned my dream &
became a social worker
last laugh on him
now i’m story-rich although
my back is bent
from all the taking in
of sadness

i don’t know why grown ups ask kids what they want to be when they grow up if they really don’t want to know the answer. if it’s just polite conversation they are making they should offer any commentary. in most polite conversations you’re only role is to nod and um…hmm… it’s definitely not to offer advice. i wonder if my conversation had gone more politely would i have ever even consider a profession outside writing. perhaps. perhaps not.