The Penny
The penny was hers;
She dropped it here
In the gutter,
Next to the alleyway
Full of vomit, rust,
And wet cardboard;
This place where
even the bricks of the buildings
are worn and sad,
where she walked
In her laceless sneakers
And tattered coat,
Pushing her shopping cart
Filled with black plastic bags.
She dropped her penny;
She did it on purpose
So I would find her story
Written on Lincoln's visage,
So I could read her regrets
On the smudge
her thumb left behind,
So I could translate
Her dirt and grit
As if it were a language
Of smells, mumblings, and rhythm;
Convert it into a form
Where people would
Stop.
Listen.
Try to
Try to
Try to
understand.
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