Heads

I wanted heads before it left my thumb.

Watched it spin and the choice was done

before the coin touched air—

I already knew which side was there.

It landed in my palm still warm.

One small metallic face, the form

of something I'd already decided on

before the flip, before it spun.

Heads.

And I felt relief or dread—

couldn't tell which came first instead.

The coin was just a coin. The choice

was made. I only needed voice,

permission to want what I already wanted.

I flipped it three more times, enchanted

by the chance to keep pretending

that something random held the ending.

Tails, heads, heads.

By the fourth flip, the coin was dead—

warm gone, metal cold.

I'd already made it do what I was told.