by Mark Jackley
Dropped, perhaps, by a soldier
marching to his fate
in 1943, and landing
in the pocket of
a hobo in Fort Wayne,
before escaping to St. Cloud,
where a thin boy found it
shining in the mist,
it is smooth and brown
as the graves of all who had
the copper-bright luck
to be in currency.
Mark Jackley is a business writer by day in the Washington, DC area. His work has appeared in numerous print and online magazines. His chapbook, Brevities, will appear later this year from Ginninderra Press.
