It struck me as strange,
Every time I walked past someone who stopped to ask me
“Hey, can you spare some change?”
Because yes I can.
But you see, I don’t carry change around in my back pocket.
I don’t wear it around my neck on a chain, in some locket.
I keep change on the tip of my pen
And it seeps out every now and then
In spurts of angry ink that make me think
Maybe the writing on the wall could use a little revision.