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We lost our food stamps somehow.

We got a termination notice

Then sent the form in late

Another notice when

I forgot to circle a yes or no box

So we circled and sent

And waited for the 5^th

Our day to get groceries in sunny LA

He went.

He took the train to McArthur Park

To wait in the work force line

To win the daily raffle to be chosen…

Taken upstairs to file

And staple and get paper cuts

In the under staffed office

And we waited, patient little rats at the feeder

And still the fifth came and went

And still the electronic voice on the phone

Tells me

‘your food stamp available balance is zero dollars’

And reminds me to keep my receipts

Our case worker has been changed six times in fewer months

And now the new one’s name is impossible to pronounce

But he tries to call her anyway

And she says

Call back later.

The little paper they send us

Gives a two hour window to make phone calls

But she says call back later

Call back at two

She hangs up on him

Because he doesn’t deserve the courtesy of words

And saying like hello and goodbye

And two o’clock comes and goes and

Not even a voice mail comes to the phone

Next day I’m always up too early

Waiting at 8:31, 8:38

And it’s two hours of forever for our window to open again

So that I can feel the full effect of our poverty

Before I shower and dress for work.

Black on black on black

To stand in the hot sun

and sell art tours to the presidential circle

Art tours on I Pods of an artist from Burbank who never waited for impolite windows

© Jenny Catlin

Bio:  Jenny Catlin lives writes and works a menial job in Los Angeles, CA. Not necessarily in that order. She likes to collect spaghetti sauce jars.