The Fall and Spin

I tossed the coin like a question

thrown to the cracked pavement,

hoping it might choose for me

something clean, something certain.

But it skittered past my toe,

a nickeled blur slipping into gutter shadows,

half-hidden by slick leaves and wet garbage.

I crouched, hands muddy, chasing fate

that rolled fast and faster,

even the streetlamp’s buzz sounded like a ticking.

Heads or tails, I thought, but the coin didn’t care,

just spun and fell like everything else

that means more than it should,

and left me standing alone,

hands empty,

with no answer but the cold night air.