Where the stones are grouted
but the money
Remains an overhang
like a parasol
over all,
Everything in dollars
Mexicano,
so large the values,
so small --
It's kept close,
the hand
at the register,
For fear we see
the nothing we are
and the nothing
these fees --
this form of exchange,
so gracious,
keeps us from stealing
what's rightfully ours.
