The shift was done the day grew dim
by Luc
· 17/02/2026
Published 17/02/2026 16:56
The shift was done, the day grew dim,
I counted coins up to the brim.
That glass jar, sticky to the touch,
had held so little, or so much.
The dull shine of the quarters there,
a crumpled bill, beyond repair.
A greasy smudge, a faded stain,
a measure of the day's hard strain.
Each coin a moment, spent and gone,
waiting for the next day's dawn.