pocket change

What was a quarter then?
a nickel and a couple of dimes
             a heavy hand full of pennies
         hitting together to sound
  like double
            bubble rolling
down a glassy
                       grimey chute.


What was a dollar then?
 four quarters or the
                               paper prince
            flag of royalty
                               handed over on my own
with sticky fingers
for the double scoop of chocolate
                               and rainbow sherbet.


a quarter is 12 minutes on the meter
across from the 7/11 where
six dollars will buy a
pack of cigarettes and
the free packet of
cardboard matches.


a block down, coffee with soy
is
four
        seventy
                      five.
drink it because
it tastes expensive
drink it because
it is expensive


Pocket change wanted
                            the potential of bright
                                                      wide eyes
two-hands to hold it all, all
the coins, all
itty bitty promises the
clinking made while
I walked.


Pocket change sounds
           cheap now
 takes up space in my twenty-thousand penny purse.


Sticky fingers hand over dollars
aren't sticky from candy anymore-
sticky fingers and single dollars
                       mean so much more.
                      
I find a five on the floor and it is a single shot of the cheap stuff at the dive bar on my way home from work.
Lincoln holds no glamour to the dulled
                                                          swollen eyes
drop him in my twenty-thousand penny purse
and wonder if the
                       corner-girl, sparkle heels and
                                             greying teeth,
                      takes plastic.