At the puff of dawn,

Tall towns collide,

And some social norms fall down by the mountain ride,

so I let the hill top guide,

Over emotions,

because they trickle ‘round inside like it’s oil to sunken in a pan that frys.

so you rise to a new day,

since it’s drunken down similar pride,

Like a dollar is simply that bold,

To side-eye any lemon pepper turkey wing that oven bakes these delicious times behind.

”So what’s it gonna be,”

She reminds through an opaque looking glass,

of four reasons to simplify every last dollar she finds,

And it is that why so that while she puts back a quarter at a time,

It’ll never be enough,

She’ll never even the score,

And for that it may be,

in that day,

On that dime,

that she throws her wallet in any given trash can,

and laughs a “goodbye.”