In God We Trust
by Lori Kean

The copper (or whatever they're made of these days)
glints in the noonday sun, pulling my attention away
from other, less sparkling thoughts.  I stop
and stare for a moment, deciphering and distinguishing,
quickly executing my singular health ritual
of always assessing worth versus possible back injury.
When recognition finally dawns, my feet are already in motion
before my conscience speaks up, telling me to stop again.  So I do.
I bend over and with one perfectly unmanicured fingernail
dig the thing from its nesting spot and bring it to my face.
1999 D.  Nothing special (except that it has captured my attention).
So for this I give it a home, slipping it into my right front pocket
to be forgotten in three minutes or three blocks, whichever comes first.
It will likely end up with countless brothers and sisters
in the coffee can on the workbench.  But for now, at least,
and for as long as I wear this particular pair of jeans,
the little disc of not so precious metal ferries me along
on its lucky back, waiting for the chance to transform my world.

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