Dyed

I want to write you a poem,
But I’ve used my ink as dye;
I went for an interview with the dyed shirt,
So I can get paid to care for you.

I passed the interview,
But I didn’t get the job.

Now my pockets are empty,
And my parchment dry.

Oh! Did I mention that she left?

©Ridwan Akinkunmi Ajagbe