pocket full of pennies
rolling across the kitchen floor,
down the steps, out the door,
pennies running into the street
(and i'm right behind them.)
"where do you think you are going? and
I m feeling a bit embassed, so i whispered.
"you belong to me,
to keep or to throw away." and
there s a light tap on my shoulder,
and the policeman tells me,
"better find them soon
before they turn to rust,
I couldn't find mine
and I'm sure they turned into dust."
and the echoe from the hole
in my pocket shouts,
" his dreams are
trying to find the waterline."
i did find a few of them, a handful,
(I had swiped my hand as they tried to roll away)
I did grasp a few
but some of the other
pennies i threw into the air
where they may have fallen,
I know not where.