Dull, usual, mundane.
Unable to make a difference all on its own,
The dollar I pull out of my pocket feels crisp between my fingers.

Two years old, but looking good for its age,
Perfectly straight, except in the areas where it was intentionally folded.
The entire bill is intricately patterned,
The individual threads of paper can be seen when held up to the light,
The symbol of our nation, the Great Seal of the United States is found on the surface,
It has the distinct, metallic smell of an old dollar bill.

It was born in Chicago, and has migrated to my pocket,
Who knows what or whom it may have come in contact with,
The only evidence is a tiny spot on the back, where a partial greasy fingerprint remains.
Perhaps a former owner got a tip after fixing a car,
Or grabbed their change after taking a bite of a juicy cheeseburger.

At first glance it is dull, usual, mundane.
Unable to make a difference all on its own,
This dollar bill is a bit like us

Each dollar bill, has its own distinguishing markings
And its own unique past;
Bent corners, grease spots, events that have left a lasting mark.
As the dollar bill grows old, the value does not fade.

I smile as I fold the dollar bill back up,
And place back into my pocket.