M.V. Montgomery
A Failed Transaction
I am at a bank located in a store being handed
a slip requesting fifty-one dollars cash back
by a well-to-do businessman, who is in no hurry.
I have to leave him for the drive-through,
where I search on a ring for the key
to unlock Sheryl’s drawer.
She is not in today, and the man is a regular customer,
disappointed at not to be able to flirt with her.
I look along the long line of drawers for hers,
instantly unlock it with the first key I try,
then begin to search for the bills.
Two twenties, one ten. I find a one-dollar bill
at the bottom of a bound-up stack.
When I count out the cash to the waiting man,
I realize it must have come from a bundle
to be retired. It is barely legible, frayed,
worn down almost to black and white.
I apologize to him and head back to the till,
deciding to make up the difference in quarters.
Scooping some coins out of the tray,
I notice that one is quite unusual,
resembling an old Liberty head dollar
but gleaming like a polished bronze plate.
As I turn the coin over a couple of times,
it appears to sprout wings. I hold it up, remarking,
It looks like an amulet to be worn around one’s neck.
At a back table, two little girls are watching us,
sitting solemnly at a table with their mother,
whose face I am unable to discern.
One girl has dark hair, one light. The blonde girl
asks to see the dollar, asking, Ooh, is that money?
I look again at the coins: the winged one has
come alive in my hand. The other is a golden ornament
with a twisted coral pattern at the top
and sparkling sapphire and garnet highlights.
Yes, I lecture to the girl. This coin represents the Western continent,
with its churning Arctic seas. On the winged coin
is a wise goddess of Eurasia. You each must have one.
I hand over the coins, ignoring the well-to-do man
and my responsibilities. True, I have mismanaged money,
but there are deeper tributes to be paid.
M.V. Montgomery is a professor at Life University in Marietta and editor of the undergraduate
poetry magazine, subtle matter. His own poems have recently appeared in Tangent Literary
Arts Magazine and Conversation Poetry Quarterly. He observes, "I like to write about dreams,
to blend the surreal with the everyday, but not usually in the sliced eyeball sort of way."
Home
Issue Two
A Failed Transaction
I am at a bank located in a store being handed
a slip requesting fifty-one dollars cash back
by a well-to-do businessman, who is in no hurry.
I have to leave him for the drive-through,
where I search on a ring for the key
to unlock Sheryl’s drawer.
She is not in today, and the man is a regular customer,
disappointed at not to be able to flirt with her.
I look along the long line of drawers for hers,
instantly unlock it with the first key I try,
then begin to search for the bills.
Two twenties, one ten. I find a one-dollar bill
at the bottom of a bound-up stack.
When I count out the cash to the waiting man,
I realize it must have come from a bundle
to be retired. It is barely legible, frayed,
worn down almost to black and white.
I apologize to him and head back to the till,
deciding to make up the difference in quarters.
Scooping some coins out of the tray,
I notice that one is quite unusual,
resembling an old Liberty head dollar
but gleaming like a polished bronze plate.
As I turn the coin over a couple of times,
it appears to sprout wings. I hold it up, remarking,
It looks like an amulet to be worn around one’s neck.
At a back table, two little girls are watching us,
sitting solemnly at a table with their mother,
whose face I am unable to discern.
One girl has dark hair, one light. The blonde girl
asks to see the dollar, asking, Ooh, is that money?
I look again at the coins: the winged one has
come alive in my hand. The other is a golden ornament
with a twisted coral pattern at the top
and sparkling sapphire and garnet highlights.
Yes, I lecture to the girl. This coin represents the Western continent,
with its churning Arctic seas. On the winged coin
is a wise goddess of Eurasia. You each must have one.
I hand over the coins, ignoring the well-to-do man
and my responsibilities. True, I have mismanaged money,
but there are deeper tributes to be paid.
M.V. Montgomery is a professor at Life University in Marietta and editor of the undergraduate
poetry magazine, subtle matter. His own poems have recently appeared in Tangent Literary
Arts Magazine and Conversation Poetry Quarterly. He observes, "I like to write about dreams,
to blend the surreal with the everyday, but not usually in the sliced eyeball sort of way."
Home
Issue Two
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Chickenpinata
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| issue two |