Small Change

Small Change

It’s the way he moved

his hands

that first drew me to him.

 

Making small circles

on the table top,

looking me in the eye.

 

And his upper lip

quivered a little

as he smiled.

 

Watching me with wide eyes

as I sipped

cheap white wine.

 

And when

one of his hands

disappeared,

I swear I could hear the sound

of change rattle.

 

“Appalling!” I thought.

 

This being a public place

and thinking nothing of it.

 

So I kicked him in the shin,

I wanted him to stop.

T

hat’s when he blinked.

 

The first punch

wasn’t so bad,

I have tasted blood before,

some of it

my own.

 

But it was only when

I fell out of my chair

that he stopped.

 

And pulled three dirty quarters

from his pants.

 

Leaving it for the tip.

 

And me for the bucket

and the mop.