Tears are penny candy.
On a shelf, in a basket on your bike, in a brown paper bag.
Scrounging around for shiny stars in the couch cushions, fallen into the cracks on the sidewalk.
Cheap and old. Sitting in the same plastic containers for years.
The wrappers yellowing, the stale, picked over selection.
Tears are penny candy.
Worthless. And endless.
Let’s all go this time. Let’s all pick out our favorite one, for nostalgia.
You don’t remember why you wanted some, but you have the evidence in your stomach.
All over your face, wash your sticky hands.
Aren’t you a little too old for that? All that sugar will go right to your thighs you know.
Tears are penny candy.
So simple and miniscule. Not unique or surprising. Easy to buy, easy to sell.
You keep the paper bag under your bed and forget about it. You find yourself crying in the bathroom again.
And when you take the next train home, to get that last piece of candy, you hope the next penny you might find,
will be face up.