the money counting machine

i take the bucket

of coins to the bank

and begin

to pour them into the mouth

of a machine

that magically counts them.

no more

sitting on the floor,

counting fifty pennies

to stuff into a little

red paper sleeve.

it's loud

and whirring as i push

the button

and pour in another pile

of silver and copper

coins.

i sift the lint out of the bucket,

the nails and screws,

dead leaves.

gum and paper, stray 

twigs and toothpicks.

backs of earrings.

it's better than the old ways,

but still not easy.

sixty-seven dollars and

a few spare pennies,

i print off the receipt.

and hand it to my man

Kamil behind the bars

and plexi-glass. like me,

he seems pleased.