Ten Cents | Gary Beaumier | The Piltdown Review

Ten Cents

Ten Cents

Once

I saw a man,

whose brother

had been murdered,

sidearm a coin

into a fountain,

and for years

I puzzled

over what this meant.

In the years

that followed

was the cheap prattle

of weather speculations

and baseball scores,

while his heartbeat kept time to some

inner dirge

that held him at a remove,

and his countenance only broke open once—

as he sailed the life of his brother

on a dime

into the water.  

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