On sad days, I trade sun for rain
to hide tears etching my face.
On hungry ones, bread for paper.
Music for dollars on busy days
And a steady husband over a quick lover any time.
On stormy nights when houses turn into boats
I trade warm hugs for anything else I own.
On laundry days, the odd socks.
On fishing days, the tangled lines.
Trading is how time moves between days.
Except when it is all spent.