two small coins
in my hand and they are more than
small
they are miniature and I feel
sorry for them
no one wants them
I found them on the road
along where the
angels meet
with devils
and talk of fresh
bread and
winnings
of the day.
I reach for them
(the coins
not the
devils),
sliding the silvers into my pocket
I keep them for now
but soon
I will forget
about them
they will drop
and clang loudly in
their world
but silently
in time
and they will become
someone else’s
two
cents
and
no longer
mine.
