throwing money around

i look

at my tax dollars

and shake

my head.

this dollar going to a war,

this one

to a country

i've never heard of,

this dollar,

to examining frogs

in

Africa,

dogs

in Somalia.

chickens in Brazil.

the money,

my money, your money,

keeps flying

out the door.

and yet there's a pothole

that i hit,

or miss

nearly

every morning when

i drive carefully

to work.