the barrel of change to the bank
and pour
it slowly
into the counting machine.
it painfully
grinds away
and counts my money for me.
noisily drawing
eyes
from all the tellers
and customers in line.
i give them a smile
and a happy wave.
no longer
do i have to individually
fill the red
and green,
the brown sleeves with
the coins i've saved.
there is a
God, after all.
God, after all.
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