Metallic circle makes geometrical sense, I suppose. Especially when it’s the only thing you’ve known for your whole life. Though I have seen other geometric coin shapes in my lifetime, from other countries. Where the marrow of life is a little bit sweeter, different. Flipping coin from the top of thumb to call a side. Vending machine frustration. Maybe a little too close to home for the realities of the American Dream: Sometimes your Cheetos just get…stuck. Sometimes your dollar is no good here. And there’s no customer service, or phone number to call. But even if there is, what is anyone going to do about it that doesn’t severely inconvenience you at that given time? Quarters as always the most valuable. Pennies as annoying, but still savable. It has been months and months and months since an ATM transaction. So account numbers and just account numbers – kaCHING. Racing, ripping through the rule book. Licking thumb and forefinger to flip through pages, panting inwardly, singing the first verse to 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” over and over and over like a loop. Stress mind, clutching to melodies and rhythms that seem familiar. Fabled fiction fantasy, figuring fallacies, finagling filmreel, Newsweek, Time. Where have the published giants of yore gone? Where is the money if we cannot find it? Dark web based transactions, still coming down from my Homeland high. Dolly Madison, sewing in her powder wig. Some never grabbed snapshot of at what was one time modern life. The painting never painted, the words never written. But somehow, I know deep down with absolute certain, that Dolly Madison had a powdered wig, she would have been completely ugly by today’s standards, and she knew a thing or two about a needle and thread. Certainty, like I lived it. That’s my truth. Even though it isn’t true. It’s a logical conclusion based on education whether approved by a school board or not. Don’t you get it? It’s my truth. The kind of self-truth that grabs you by the collar and shakes you into compliance. Bag of nickels, hit on the face. To the CoinStar machine we go. Hunks of metal we have ascribed value to with symbols of our democratic republic. Democracy Enforcement. Notebook value system, College-Ruled. Five-Star folder and Trapper Keeper. School again. Christian-based value system as some topsoil certainty. But don’t you know that under your feet lies the Earth’s core? And don’t know you that it’s not too late to start digging for answers and unEarthing all you know? It is scary and frightening and does not jive with complacency –

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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