Copper Weight

Washing out the mug,

last night's coffee, cold,

and there it was, stuck

to the bottom, old.

A penny, dull, almost

blackened where it sat,

a small ghost

of value, flat.

Its edges, faint green,

the face rubbed smooth

by what's been,

no date, no proof.

Just stuck there,

holding on,

more than the worth

of what it's been on.