there's some change scattered on my dresser
i don't remember when i put it there.
their ***** faces just look up or down.
their voices muffled or aloud.
maybe they talk about me and how linted my pockets were
or how odd my room is decorated.
i wonder if the presidents talk about
the deeds they've done.
if they scoff at the world
and what it has become.
i think i can hear them asking if it's oak,
"yep, its oak fellas".
they're asking where Kennedy went
and if anyones seen Sacagawea,
or Eisenhower,
or Ms. Anthony recently.
"not since that toll booth on the parkway" says Washington.
they shouted in outrage to each other,
that Americans are tolled to use the roads they pay for.
i was tired of hearing their agreeable talk
so i put them back into my pocket,
where the lint of my ***** jeans
would quiet their truthful words.