I counted it three times.
I have 9 quarters, 24 dimes, 27 nickels,
and a bunch of pennies I decide I’m not poor enough to count.
Enough for a pack of Camels
but not enough for a pack of Camels and a Coke.

On the way to the corner store
I walk in the middle of the street
squinting in the dark so I can see the sidewalk on both sides
It smells like rain.
I make it to the store with no trouble.
No one hits me.
I don’t have to defend my pocketful of tiny metal presidents
They chink loudly with each step
announcing my approach to anyone interested
but I make it to the store, just fine.

Inside, the lunatic is yelling at the old man
He’s demanding to know why the laundromat next door
closes at 6:00
The lunatic claims he’s never heard of such a thing.
He walked a mile and a half and
deserves clean clothes, by God!
The old man radiates Buddhist calm
Even when the lunatic slams his hand down roughly on the counter
and throws his bag into a shelf
sending ho-hos, singing into Pythagorean spins,
upsetting the quiet gamblers beep beeping away the hours
In the back of the store.
I notice the old man has a hand under the counter.

The lunatic gathers up his things
and pushes past me out the door
mumbling and yelling in alternation
to no one in particular.

I step up to the counter
and announce my intentions to the old man
Then I begin my victory count
The old man passes a mathematical hand over my change,
counting and checking for slugs.
I appreciate this.
It means he takes me seriously.
It makes our interaction meaningful.

When he’s satisfied he rings it up,
and hands me my pack of smokes.
I’ve got it open before I hit the door.
That first drag gives me a shiver.
I make it back home without killing anyone’s cocker spaniel
or falling into any holes.
I left my cellophane and foil in the parking lot.

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