Getting By

There’s a monetary way to measure me.
Sometimes the money’s after me but...

I’ve got a stack of quarters the size
of a shotgun shell. I spend it all on bread.

The bank sends me statements: remember
that day? That was a bad day. Feel better?

I hear the news about gold prices....
I wonder what my ring is good for, now.

Four-and-a-quarter percent! Sign me up!
In a hundred years, I’ll really have something.

I found three quarters, a dime, a nickle, and
a bunch of pennies. I’ll have tea–just to see you.