[Plain Text Version]

How Are We Going to Pay the Rent

By Matt Stanley

There’s a sheltered spot in the alley,

beyond the street lamps and dumpsters,

with a dim light and a faded sign

that reads Beware of Dogs.

The orange tail of a shooting star

arcs through the sticky evening,

and the pinched butt of a cigarette

drops into the wet ground by the grate.

The dice rest easily on the soft fold 

of his palm as he draws his loose fist up,

close to his lips. He mutters a wish,

and with a  shake of the wrist, 

a pair of dice explodes

onto the unforgiving tarmac,

cartwheeling, up against the wall,

and bending back like a crumpled prayer.

Mom’s hands are folded 

around her heavy ceramic cup.

She looks at the grounds, then at me.

“I guess we don’t eat this week.”

Matt Stanley is a poet from Baltimore who is now enjoying retirement with his family. He began writing poetry at the age of four, apparently inspired by the love he felt for his mommy.