In a Medieval West African desert, 
Salt used to be as valuable as gold. 
They’d weigh it and trade it; 
It was their edible currency. 
 
I flipped open my light wallet 
And wished I could pay with salt. 
I still had salt at home. 
 
I glared at the coolers in front of me. 
The price of milk had gone up. 
I wouldn’t be able to afford it 
If I kept my other groceries. 
 
But I needed the milk 
And the eggs and the flour, and the sugar. 
I’ll have to put something else back. 
I bet I could find hotel toothpaste somewhere. 
 
The grocery store was a vast desert of opportunities. 
The relief of the oasis was 
Too hidden in the dunes and guarded  
By sandstorms and price tags.  
 
To find water in the desert 
They used to dig through the sand, 
But I’m in a synthetic desert. 
I opened my wallet again 
And found the concrete base.