Minted
by Lee Nash

Behind the North window,
neat piles of unmarked coins
assembled
for anvil and hammer,
collar and dies.

The Judge presides

By the South window,
people-blanks are assembled--
waiting
for a striking design,
uniform pressure.

at his pleasure.

In the East window,
a reflection of my
freshly minted face
ready to be
bucketed and bagged.

The accused brags

The West window is
closed. No one can see in.
You can hear the tocsin,
buy fake notes,
spend fake chips in town.

but still goes down.

Forums: 
New Poems