It survived the heavy tumble of the wash

It survived the heavy tumble of the wash,

wedged tight against the rubber and the gray lint,

a small, metallic piece of sudden cash

that lost its shine and every bit of glint.

I rubbed the surface with a nervous thumb

and felt the date, a smooth and hollow ghost.

The copper makes my fingertips go numb,

or maybe it’s the grime I hate the most.

It leaves a brownish tarnish on the skin,

a metallic smell that lingers like a shame.

It’s not enough to let the world back in,

but it’s a heavy thing without a name.