Honest Abe and Famous Men with Wooden Teeth

There's a big red plastic bowl
next to my bed where I throw
all of my loose pocket change
at the end of the day.
It's one of my less detrimental habits
since a penny saved is
well, a penny saved.

The sources vary: coffee break
orders, both mine and otherwise;
depressing gas station encounters;
bars, restaurants, Italian delicatessens--
but the essence is always the same:
a bunch of shiny discs that make
a sad world hobble 'round.

My coin bowl comes in handy
on those "Oh Shit!" Mornings
as I like to call them--
you know, the ones where you wake up
still drunk, then rummage through your pockets
uncrinkling bills and hoping to find at least
a five, if not a twenty, but always seem
to only muster singles.
Or maybe that's just me.

This has been an "Oh Shit!" Month
since I haven't worked much
due to the feast-or-famine nature of construction.
Fortunately, and with a touch of pride
I can say with an unusually clear conscience
that the coin bowl's remain intact
the entire time, a hymen waiting for the right time.
I like to be the one to tell time.
Did I mention? Is it obvious?

And every week that I avoid taking the shameful ride
to the coin-counting machine at the local supermarket
to cash in the chips in an hour of desperation
is another week that I have beaten the odds, the system.
Bill collectors, gas tanks, and bottomless guts be damned--
I am immortal, and you can't shake that red and round
and plastic source of hope from my hands unless I'm ready.

It won't be for awhile.

It won't.
Before.

When I hit the hay too gone to talk
the last thing I see tends to be
that hopeful gold mine
sitting there comfortably alone.
More often than not
in that unique state
the silver faces frowning back
don't belong to Founding Fathers.
It's You.
It's always You.

Awhile?
I meant 'me to know'...



Currently reading:
"Point Counter Point" by Aldous Huxley.