Exact Change

The line stretched out, a slow, metallic crawl,

headlights like strung pearls against the wall

of distant dark. My window down, the cold

bit in. A coin search, story often told.

I found the quarters, nickels, dimes, a pile

of silver. The small square of a smile

behind the glass, the attendant's gloved hand there,

waiting for the payment, thin as air.

It took it, vanished. The barrier rose,

a brief release. Another highway goes

somewhere else. A transaction, neat and quick,

a small price paid for every click.