A nickel. A dime. A quarter, if I’m lucky.

The words fade; the ink is dry.


I shake the cup between my feet.

My arms shadow my ribs against the cold.


I nod in thanks. It’s all I have.



46 thoughts on “Clink…

  1. I confess I was drawn in by the picture — what a powerful image. Your poem did it justice.

      1. Thanks Sean! It’s just the featured image. You can see it from my home page 🙂

    1. Thanks Mel! I’m so happy to hopefully be back on the #gargleblaster (assuming it doesn’t close by 7am) 🙂

      1. Haha – I haven’t been on in about a month. It changes week to week. Sometimes midday. You can never tell! But you can always hitchhike in the comments!

  2. I could hear the coins hitting the bottom of that can. It is the sound of NYC as much as the honk of taxi cabs or sirens.
    A heartbreaking take on signs.

  3. This was written incredibly well. One of my favorites so far… And I admit I had to click your home page to see the picture. Very moving!

  4. I love your use of repetition here…not only does the onomatopoeia trigger the sound, but the repetition of that sound also speaks to the story line so beautifully. Great job.

  5. I was instantly able to visualize this — such a great job setting the scene. I especially liked this line: The words fade; the ink is dry.


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