Satisfaction is more than paper.

Paper checks cashed don’t add up to emotional stability.

Problems grow like the stack of holiday wrapping paper left for the recycle bin.

On the opposite side of the celebration we find ourselves back in the race to earn more paper to meet next Decembers needs.

Time zips by while were in the grind.

Ground down, running the streets bare.

A great day is one where I have enough paper to put a meal on the table.

Shelves bare, we struggled last year.

Facing 20-20-won with fear and forboading,

Hoping the paper holds out and we don’t lose market shares.

The buck teetering on the edge of dropping.

When we lose our antlers, a target for the predators of the world who want to destroy our paper and ability to make it worth more.

Living off the land not an option for millions,

and the heavy hand to support them put on a few.

Politics seperating them, hate brewing while they blame each other.

Social struggles in cities, or corporations stealing the ability for the farmer to make a profit.

Hard working people forced to stomach food lines and look for handouts where they were self reliant a year ago.

Everyone hurting over paper,

Not enough,

Too weak,

Hoarding a lot.

Paper, still won’t fix the emotional hole being left,

Family passing away leaving people alone,

Support passing between people’s fingers like sand.

Eviction on the horizion,

Where are the millions going to go?

(The title was inspired by a great 90’s band, The Dead Presidents of the United States, song “Peaches”)

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