The kid gave me a nickel for a quarter

The kid gave me a nickel for a quarter,

said nothing, looked past me at the door.

I stood there in the parking lot and turned it

over once, the way you test a sore.

My father said a nickel's real money.

Said that instead of spending any of it.

I'd hold the coin and think: then give me some.

He never heard me. I never said it.

The metal smell stayed on my fingers

all the way home, past the highway sign.

A nickel's real money, sure. A principle.

A thing you say to keep what should be mine.