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The Change



turn around, count the change held in your hand, that your
hand picked up, sticky, off the ground, pennies and a dime,
each with a story of instant luck against a constant misfortune,
becoming, recalled and retold, more important, more loved, than the
exchange value, constantly shrinking, of each little face rubbed
smooth by years of nervous fingers seeking, finding;

turn around, strain to see the ground behind you, all the
parking lots and sidewalks, covered in coins you missed
or left behind, too busy or too uninterested to pick up, then
estimate the cost of lost wealth and drop your small treasure,
Midas, wising instead you'd seeds to plant and time to watch them grow

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.