There are wrongs wronged
dulled or forgiven
the rude comment in line
waiting at the grocery store,
a coworker insisting you owed them
more than you did -
and there are injuries
that show
in the repeated bending
back and forth of a corner
of a scrap of paper,
the dull grind of your jaw
when you stare, lost to the tick
of a clock.
They are old, and so old.
Though you haven’t placed a
penny in your mouth
since you were a child,
you know the taste
the dirt, the metal
the blood and lemon of pocket change.