The man stares at you
Across smooth, smoked oak.
His head emerges from his shirt
Like a pyramid from the sand.
Coins gleam in his ears;
Dimes a few weeks ago, then
Pennies to nickels in ruthless
Numismatic progression.
Now quarters: Washington
Stretching toward the day
That will bring Sacagawea
Then John F. Kennedy
To be framed in loops of flesh
And later perhaps Lady Liberty Walking.
He stares, the man stares, implacable
Across smooth, smoked oak
At the buttons on your collar.
Gary Witt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nostalgia-26/
