bread and butter

Wealth is bread and butter.

It's fried rice made with yesterday's

leftovers. Your mum holding a tray of

cupcakes on your birthday – one

for each kid in class. It's looking forward to

dinner 'cause you know you'll get one.

It's buying boots that last six winters

instead of the sole ripping clean mid-

January. It's beauty. 'Cause nobody looks

good scrubbing toilets. It's saying shit like:

'Oh, you should buy that in bulk.'

It's the canteen of cutlery you inherit

when you leave home at eighteen 'cause

your mum's got one tucked away in the attic.

It's the existence of the attic. It's owning

furniture, even when they don't match.

It's getting to a job interview without

walking seven miles – a spotless suit free

from sweat stains and piecemeal patches.

It's your boss that uses words like 'potential'

or 'your career progression'.

It's the clangor of children playing badminton

with borrowed birdies on a side street. Belly

laughter chased by thunderous tremors of

tears 'cause they haven't yet learnt that breaking

something in two sometimes makes you richer.

It's the sound that your dog makes when you

rest your hand on its coat as the sun sets. Or

your niece's stumbling steps caught on camera.

It's seeing your family every year for the holidays.

Even when they don't match.