Millions of copper discs
Not just in cosmos
But in pockets.
Slipping in and out
Of leather wallets,
An afterthought.
Blipping against
Luxuriously nominal

The story
She liked to recite
Is that she rolled
Off a ship’s deck
In the Atlantic,
Sliding through
Sea breeze
Dipping into the
Wavy azure.

Riding the tides,
The sand retrieved
Gently coaxing
To dry ground
As twinkle-toed
Children ran past
Her subtle glint.

Picked up
By a salty palm
Fingers drenched
In sunshine,
Gently placed in denim shorts
Tucked into a faded
Blue slot,
Covering the extra of
Tangy lunchtime lemonade
And boardwalk burgers.

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