Pocket Change - a Night Owls Lament
Collect days like pennies;
hope they’ll add up;
hope they’ll be enough.
Go begging when they’re not.
Each morning vomit up the night
like a drowned man clearing lungs filled with water.
Gather up stars from the vom.
Take them to the shop;
see if they’ll pawn dreams for hope.
Nope.
Wind slips through all the holes in jackets,
just like change
that scattered somewhere, silver,
and singing as it hit the concrete
rolling into the gutter.
Copyright © Jack Webster | Year Posted 2019
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