Another penny for the swear jar.
Another garden of lit cigarette butts
burning some life into a dead lawn.
Think: fireflies to night.
Think of a round bit of neon
so far down the tracks
it looks like a train
Try to remember the last time you saw a train
& didn’t wait until the last second to leap.
How beer bottles pop & scatter
beneath all that movement.
How coins flatten.
I don’t know if others still have their fathers
or if all houses inside us open
to a hallway of closed doors.
Another penny. Then a dime
down the well to see if wishes
erupt from the deeper places
our mothers forbade us play.
Perhaps it depends on the wish.