Oxidation

I’m digging for quarters in the deep of the seat,

amongst the old crumbs and the wrappers of sweet.

I find only copper, a penny turned green,

the stickiest coin that I’ve ever seen.

It sat in some soda, it’s fuzzy and thick,

the smell of the metal is making me sick.

A sour, sharp odor on the tips of my hand,

more of a burden than I’d ever planned.

I need one more dollar to dry all my shirts,

but this little coin is the only thing hurts.