Small copper bits in my pocket,

mixed with unopened gum and lost keys,

taking up precious space

and wasted change.

I received them when I paid too much for something,

and the price rounded up to .37 with taxes,

and I didn't know what to do next.

The clamor in my wallet,

making friends with punch cards

which I saved them to get that free drink

from that one night

from that one morning I overslept

and needed something to glide through the bricks

and the pavement.

They may be all that I have left,

after I spent too much on overpriced cocktails

with a slinky umbrella

tossed to the wind with a lost fry.

They are sad friends,

weighing me down as I try to shake them out,

a conversation of dangles,

a feeling of nothingness.

I ask myself if they are worth it.

I ask myself if I'm worth it,

if I am valued at all.

If I flip all of them multiple times,

will they tell my fortune,

or tell me I am nothing?