I checked the ATM and the screen just stared back

I checked the ATM and the screen just stared back.

Fourteen dollars and sixty cents in the black.

The mall fountain smells like bleach and pennies,

a graveyard of wishes made by the many.

Those kids have a straw and they’re fishing for silver,

while I’m watching the surface start to shiver.

There’s a nickel wedged deep in a crack in the floor,

turned mossy and green. It isn’t worth much anymore.