Currency

The lease is sitting on the counter

next to a pile of junk mail

and a half-eaten bagel.

I’m too tired to weigh the commute

against the leaky faucet

or the way the light hits the floor at four p.m.

I found a quarter in the cup holder,

stuck to a dried ring of old soda.

I dug it out with a fingernail,

the serrated edge biting deep

into the soft meat of my thumb.

George Washington is staring at me,

unimpressed by my lack of a plan.

I’ll let the gravity do the thinking.

Heads, I pack the boxes.

Tails, I find a way

to live with the drip for another year.