Bad Poetry

Ten Cent Angel

I eat dimes,

A pocket full of them

Cold metal

Gnashing against my teeth

They fill my stomach

One by one

And I was always poor growing up

But now I am very rich

Can you hear them rattling as I try to move on?

I eat dimes

because they’re everywhere I go

I tell myself it’s you

Maybe after I fall asleep

You come down and place them

Where I can find them

In my jacket pocket

At the bottom of my bag

Underneath my pillow

Falling out of my wallet

Lonely, on the ground of my bus walk

A leftover tip from a careless stranger

I pour a bowl of dimes every morning

The prize in the box?

More dimes

So I eat dimes,

A bowl full of them

Because they’re everywhere I go

A glint my eyes always catch

And you,

You’re everywhere I go,

with wings made of silver

You are my ten cent angel