She held coins in her pockets.
They rubbed together with her stride.
She spoke of dollar rockets
That sent her on a ride.
Every piece of altitude achieved
Allowed her to rise.
Every level was conceived
To bring sparks before her eyes.
Shooting into the sky, she went.
The cash bundles mounted.
The dollars she sent
To the firmament, she counted.
This vessel did prove
to be something quite proper.
When it did move
In her pockets did jingle the copper.
The ascent remained swift
When the spacecraft rose.
It just needed lift
And some cash rewards that she chose.
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Skyler Saunders
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Smartystan
Chanda sent home money every two weeks. In a small village in India, she deposited money into the bank account of her Aunt and Uncle who sent her to live in America. The place seemed so remote, almost cut off from the rest of the country. There, a festival took place where participants hurled cow eliminations at each other. The muddy, mucky sense of it had been known for centuries. Locals tied it to an ancient god who they believed restored people’s health with the cow plops. During the festival, thick patties hurled through the air and smushed into the bodies and faces of those rollicking around in the filth.
By Skyler SaundersExclusive • 3 days ago
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