Poem by Jonce Palmer

all the cash I had on me
at the gas station
with work tomorrow

I wonder about JCPenny
and the story I learned
as a youngster

how taking a penny
off a price
made it harder
for cashiers to steal
from their own drawer

it came out like
counterfeit bills
counted by high-
schoolers

sweaters for a penny
less think how far
the dollar can be stretched

when prices are a penny more
different folks with

all the cash I had on me
at the gas station
with work tomorrow

I wonder about JCPenny
and the story I learned
as a youngster

how taking a penny
off a price
made it harder
for cashiers to steal
from their own drawer

it came out like
counterfeit bills
counted by high-
schoolers

sweaters for a penny
less think how far
the dollar can be stretched

when prices are a penny more
different folks with signs
saying anything helps
can be found outside the store

their cardboard files neatly
accounted for
at closing time

meanwhile I head home
less than ¾ gallon
kicking myself that I didn’t

stop at more than ¾ gallon’s
worth projected
from the neon bars

here lies a hypothetical
morning:
I’d wake up
with blissful nowhere
to go

no more
glasses full or empty
just containers
containing stuff
and space for more

because the bullshit
they fed me about
counterfeit bills and pennies

is them tricking you
into thinking of $19.99
as just $19

feel the crumb of regret
when you hear the clerk
read the total back to you
with tax

here’s what’s worse:
prices becomes uneven
harder to calculate on
mental paper and pencil

imagine as teens work
the grocery checkout
they use ever-lamented math
to price onions

and other dead things
conveyed across every
factory floor

I’m not yet convinced
either way
on the price scales
their ideal state

O America
how you never fail
to leave us unskilled
yet inadvertently
teach us how to destroy you

I know I would sleep
better picturing
the extra gas
in my tank

it’s not a dream
any human deserves

signs
saying anything helps
can be found outside the store

their cardboard files neatly
accounted for
at closing time

meanwhile I head home
less than ¾ gallon
kicking myself that I didn’t

stop at more than ¾ gallon’s
worth projected
from the neon bars

here lies a hypothetical
morning:
I’d wake up
with blissful nowhere
to go

no more
glasses full or empty
just containers
containing stuff
and space for more

because the bullshit
they fed me about
counterfeit bills and pennies

is them tricking you
into thinking of $19.99
as just $19

feel the crumb of regret
when you hear the clerk
read the total back to you
with tax

here’s what’s worse:
prices becomes uneven
harder to calculate on
mental paper and pencil

imagine as teens work
the grocery checkout
they use ever-lamented math
to price onions

and other dead things
conveyed across every
factory floor

I’m not yet convinced
either way
on the price scales
their ideal state

O America
how you never fail
to leave us unskilled
yet inadvertently
teach us how to destroy you

I know I would sleep
better picturing
the extra gas
in my tank

it’s not a dream
any human deserves