The Nickel That Stayed

A single coin slips

from my jacket’s worn pocket,

spins, then stills—cold and stubborn

on cracked pavement, refusing to run away.

Its dull gleam catches a flicker

of streetlight, barely worth the glance,

but it holds, a token of cheap persistence,

a weight I never bothered to claim.

I stoop, fingers hovering—

not quite gathering, not quite leaving.

Sometimes the smallest things

carry more than their worth,

lodged in the seams of forgotten days.