coins

circles overlapping circles at the bottom of

a nearly empty tattered red

and white

Coca-Cola paper cup



is reached out to her offering

(for a Price)

to rid the girl of

her guilt for not being poor.



(she was born in a White frame house

in suburbia

a baby

her future pre-paid for with Gerber jars

and a 20-year mortgage and two cars in the garage)



her eyes look up from the cement to the cup

to his hands

to his eyes and then he looks at specifically Her

instead of empty carnivals of color

and empty faces leading empty lives

(where did his childhood go? she thinks)

but she never thinks too long

it hurts and smells too much like Truth ,

her friend giggles and takes her arm



he staggers a little

he looks away

his hand trembles

the coins clink and slide

in front of Tower Record's revolving door

passing thoughts passing quickly on a one-way street ,