Change Jam

Coins click clack on plastic tray,

a small flood in the booth’s grey day.

Machine gurgles, stutters slow,

fingers fumble, dollars low.

The attendant’s voice, a clipped reprieve,

waiting lines in morning’s heave.

Nickels spill in haphazard flings,

moment caught between small things.

A jammed slot swallows coins like pain,

delays turn seconds into rain.

The clink, the pause, the awkward stare,

a tangled pulse in thin air.

Machine’s cough a broken rhyme,

sometimes life sticks out of time.

Coins trapped in an ambered snap,

waiting for release — a trap.