by Kelly Pieper
The laundromat dispenses me
on the steps of your house
like a clipped penny
passing for a dime.
How could I know that she never
paid the electric bill,
or that I could lose so much
on a sure thing? My quarters, all
wooden nickels. But hey,
I remembered to bring my own
soap this time.
Don’t push me out.
Hey.
Please.