a tin full of ashes

it comes

down to money, doesn't

it?

can we afford it.

another child,

a new car.

that dress in the window?

coupons are cut,

pennies

saved.

is there enough in the bank

for a vacation,

two star,

or three. enough

cash in the bank

for our

teeth, or

to have a maid

just once a week.

we count and count

and count,

even in the end,

someone is taking

measure

of us.

will it be wood or steel,

brass,

perhaps gold inlaid?

or cheaper still,

perhaps

we'll cremate.