Heads or Tails

The fluorescent hum is a weight on my head,

between the frozen peas and the bread.

I can’t tell the difference, I can’t make a choice,

I’ve lost the sound of my own inner voice.

I pulled out a quarter, oily and cold,

with a copper edge that is starting to fold.

It sat on my thumb like a heavy small sun,

waiting to tell me which side had won.

I flipped it high past the cereal box,

letting fate pick the keys to the locks.