Purchasing the Pavement

I'm wrist-deep in the upholstery,

clawing for the silver that fell through the cracks.

Two dimes and a sticky nickel

for six minutes of peace

from the lady in the lime-green vest.

She's already clicking her heels toward my bumper,

her thumb hovering over the print button.

The red flag pops up like a tiny tongue

mocking the fact that I’m three cents short

of staying legal on a Tuesday.