exchange



coins and bills pour 
out of his mouth while he talks,
glowing green or sparkling as
they fall.  small bronze pennies and
nickel jeffersons, washingtons
and lincolns in olive leaf frames.

her mouth also waterfalls coins and 
bills but in larger amounts; in
quarters and andrew jackson seeming 
haggard from all the handling, franklin
looking well-stuffed on the hundred.

over the years, the money has plinked and 
drifted into a register between them.  at this 
point, the register is ringing voraciously, swallowing 
multiples and handfuls all at once; it even begins to 
take paychecks.  the receipt rolls out in a long strip -- health care bills,
property tax, car fixing, mortgage payments, re-roofing, plumbing, appliance 
repair ... 

so she declares bankruptcy and
clamors for more, so much that 
her eyes are alight like her green 
bills.

     (everything has a value.  once he's 
     done paying for the kids in college, he's 
     leaving.  she reminds him of all the work 
     she did raising the kids, that comes to 
     several thousand. and even the daughter's 
     boyfriend, hey does he have some money?)

in return, he hides money under the register 
surreptitiously short-changing her.

she imagines finding a rich man, and 
he imagines finding a young woman.

in this life, there is only an exchange.



     --jennifer crystal chien