Rust and Quarters

Coins clink in the slot

like tired soldiers saluting

against chipped green paint,

streaked with rain and rust.

The glass face flickers,

counter counting down in stubborn clicks —

time sold in quarters,

measured by pockets of patience.

I stand in the drizzle,

watching the meter’s glass

fog over like tired eyes,

a quiet sentinel holding

onto minutes no one wants

but everyone needs,

a weathered guard at the curb,

waiting for a life to pay up.