Patrick Loafman

Two Bits

I spun a quarter
it hummed on the linoleum
the cat couldn’t even blink
he had witnessed a miracle

the quarter wobbled as gravity
worked its inevitable way

the tip of the cat’s tail alive
dark pupils like vending machine slits

the quarter settled flat as a scab

George Washington smiled
a wooden-toothed grin
at the knotholes of my ceiling
and the cat looked at me

I told him about apple trees and lies
as though our first president were Adam

it was only Wednesday
the week in mid-spin
I was almost forty
the cat was nearly three

I wedged a fingernail under the coin
held it like a football to be punted

flicked it

the cat and I watched
the quarter bloom and buzz.


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