Will I Win?

Clinging,

A pigeon steps on the finger,

A hundred dollars more for cable,

Two thousand in the rent,

And I pull on the hard rock surface

Bleeding at the knuckles,

Three more bills from the wind,

Blown in my face as I scratch my wrist to get up,

But the pigeon pecks at my left hand, which handles

The bare surface with an undying grip,

--The eagle-it soars like a protector of the young

looking for prey, straight for the eyes,

and its majestic brown wings spread in the sky,

oh, no the trip to Mexico costs so much,

I'm falling,

The ground is corrupt,

The rain begins to pour

And the birds fly off in pursuit of shelter

Leaving me alone

With my fingers slipping

Soon, I shall have nothing to hold onto,

But the fingers fight on,

Even in the slippery wetness of the future.