Bridge

 The pennies follow me around the city, I see them heads up on street corners and in bar entrances, they glimmer at me through my runs along the river, and every time I forget I needed a boost they arrive with a little dose of magic. I don’t pick them up. Do I not dare believe they are meant for me? Do I brazenly believe I can share the wealth? The days carry on, so I am not unlucky. The world crumbles around me, perhaps the pennies can do better work elsewhere? 

An adventure appears in my periphery. I turn it over in my hands as if you can know the end result of a free fall before even climbing the height. There was a time when you would have just talked yourself into jumping, and then reveling in how you navigated the jagged rocks where they stuck out. Age has made you soft. Or maybe scars have made you hard. Life has made you tired. But there’s so little left of it, maybe even less than you think. 

Pick up those pennies. Count them later, spend them first, if you don’t set things on fire how will you see where you have gone?