To hear Paris spoken of like Texas
(both more magnet than
destination real people spend summers,
thousands on) has starved
our collegiate grammar till it snaps.
We are all starving
artists, but still Europe’s mention traces
income’s half-smile,
flatlining. Guess 2008 is disease
in stages. In class
they taught us about how poor people die.
What is scarier: to know
the course of your illness or watch your life
end one dinner time?
I know that we are all symptomatic,
hell, look at our shoes.
At least they peel off feet instead of mouths.
Still, if any mouth
eats any sole it will be mine and yours.
And I am not poor
enough to complain about. Yet I am
not well-to-do trips
past Florida. This is not politics;
I am just blushing.
I blush for justness: equal Goldfish in cups
and adjective jobs
that do not kill your parents and a world
without measuring.
I will not flip the meritocratic
sandwich. Meat will be
meat will be eaten but first some of it
will take ski trips and
no, I’ve never been.
Eddy Finch is a junior at DePaul University pursuing an English BA. His poetry was recently featured in the 2026 DePaul English Conference.