twenty five cents in the gutter,
recently released,
glitter as if to complain about the poor accommodation.
coins burn their image on my retina.

the well-rehearsed story of movie magic
was another casualty that day
as tears told a narrative
of evaporated opportunity.

I revealed to you years later
the complete truth.
As you shrugged you said, “Oh, I don’t remember.”
Then you turned away to dry another dinner plate
while brooking on about the new outfit from Barney’s
which you’ll wear on the next cruise.

At night, when I squeeze my eyes closed,
I see those two dimes and a nickel
where I dropped them
in that trough
of my childhood.

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