Spare Change

I know a man who drops change wherever he goes.Popping from pockets in clatters of quarters, Like Pop Rocks falling from mouths in too loud of bangs. Metallic ringing announcing his presence In hidden nickle trails from the door to the bedWhere piggy banks up heave silver dollars onto well used sheets. Dimes line the bathroom tile, And pennies mosaic kitchen linoleumLike fountains guarding tourist landing strips.

Piles and piles of silver and bronze in puddles of passenger seat cracks.All the holes are sewn up in his jeans, Which makes me believe this is a toll he pays for the cost of existing, Or a fee for transforming like the ferry men death keeps. If I had a say in all foreshadow and magic living, All these excess jingles of small treasuresAre telling us stories of what impact he can make. So full of potential, passion, smarts, And the vigor to mold the future in his two large hands. It's no wonder I know a man who drops change wherever he goes,Uninhibited by when the world says no.