they keep saying I've got a hole in my pocket

another phone call and
my checking account reaches its empty arm up
for one more notch on the bed post.
The past creeps up like water damage along the walls
like the small black ants that keep coming back.
The gas tank lurches
half-ready to swallow
and let me know my number's up.
Still the ants keep coming back
squished black abdomens don't pay the rent
and you've got to hold that down if you want it to stop wriggling.