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