the infected dollar bill

i find a lucky

dollar on the street, i see the wind
pick it up

and place it at my
feet.

i think about it for a second,
but
leave it there.

i have no idea where it's been.
who's hand

last touched it.
maybe someone in a card game,

or buying a ticket
somewhere.

someone in the circus,
a hooker
maybe, a pole dancer,

perhaps it fell out of her
thigh high stocking

after she left work.

my mind wanders, or maybe,

it's some kid's lunch money.
or a nun took it out
of the collection basket
for a bus
to the zoo.

i look it at lying there.

is it worth the risk.
luckily i have a gallon of bleach
with me

so i pour some on the dollar,
flip it over with a stick, then

pour some on the other side.
i wait a few
minutes, then with my surgical
gloved hands

wring it out, shaking it dry
in the sun and wind.

carefully, with a pair of tweezers,
i put it into a plastic
bag, from the box i carry around

with me now. i look at the sterile
bill snug tight
in the bag. you never

know when you might need a buck.

it's a good day, money made
just by walking down the deserted
street.