I look at my coin collection
Old and new, copper and brass
Rupees and cents, a reminder
That the little circles that we fondly
Slipped inside a till, were blown away
By paper and plastic. The collections
That we treasured falling through
A black hole, to time.
Now we are filled
With a careless strain of saudade;
How we shook the till, made
The slot bigger to buy some lollies or candy
How we hid the till where no one could find.
And those metal coins make us children
Once again, how carefree childhood
Was, and how one day after graduating from college
We made a pact with the devil;
The dollar notes that slide like Aladdin’s carpet
Or fold like an origami crane.
Oh the tragedy of the numismatists that lived once in us
How they grew up and learned how to count,
The numbers and commas,
Of a collective greed.