by Roland King
What lies in the middle of the street
|I don’t have the eagle eyes
to see it from the curb
as I stand at the corner
of 15th and L.
But as I mingle with the crowd of cattle-
like humans in an unrushed stampede
when the crossing light turns, my downcast eyes spy
a glint of silver and a flap of dull green.
My feet do not miss a step
but my brain stumbles and spends a suspended second
taking in the simple scene on the ground before me.
A quarter is weighing down a dollar bill at first glance.
At second glance, a quarter is weighing down the
face of Benjamin Franklin, and that
is far more
than one dollar.
I contemplate stopping to pick it up.
Ben stares at me with a glance that conveys knowing wisdom with a
side-helping of something more vague
in what looks like a slightly raised eyebrow.
of stopping is taken out of my hands as a
horn honks to signify I’m taking too long to cross.
I move along and Ben waits to catch the eye
of the next passerby.