Small copper bits in my pocket,
mixed with unopened gum and lost keys,
taking up precious space
and wasted change.
I received them when I paid too much for something,
and the price rounded up to .37 with taxes,
and I didn't know what to do next.
The clamor in my wallet,
making friends with punch cards
which I saved them to get that free drink
from that one night
from that one morning I overslept
and needed something to glide through the bricks
and the pavement.
They may be all that I have left,
after I spent too much on overpriced cocktails
with a slinky umbrella
tossed to the wind with a lost fry.
They are sad friends,
weighing me down as I try to shake them out,
a conversation of dangles,
a feeling of nothingness.
I ask myself if they are worth it.
I ask myself if I'm worth it,
if I am valued at all.
If I flip all of them multiple times,
will they tell my fortune,
or tell me I am nothing?
