A Broken Change Machine

A broken change machine drops nickles into a dirty grocery checkout lane and a frail plastic bag splits a seam dropping tin cans there too. The shock drops the jaw rolling a chewed piece of gum off the tongue mid “shit!” Then tears ooze down the cheek bringing down a thunderstorm.

Dropping to the knees, dying a martyr, believing in lotion, a late nite drive-thru eater and handsome; so handsome like the strength of a good minted profile, resilient and a real power surge when dressed in pajamas for a blackout when a storm comes. God came out the dark with a flashlight and boardgame in those youthful days to save his life. Now, a cashier’s hand pulls up the armpits like pieta. She has been waiting her whole life to save him. She has rung out all his life enough to know handsome. She had been just this close to needing god to put him in her arms. So she damaged the change bowl enough to break him like the sound of wind breaking apart the roof.


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