It has to be my stubborn side
keeps me on my knees like this,
flipping nickels up an down,
hoping that you'll smile,
or frown.
But listen,
things change, Jonathan.
You may be surprised one day
to find you like the edge of things:
the dog-faced boy, the half-man girl,
instead of all those flat tableaus
the world keeps hoisting up for you.
HEADS OR TAILS?
the barker cries,
and holds the nickel high, mid-air.
You edge up slowly, look around.
He knows you’re trying to guess the scam.
You double-clutch: a voice inside you
hisses: Heads. You see the rest
as in a film:
the sly, attentive barker’s eyes,
the nickel tumbling, you below,
the Indian's Augustan nose,
the rush of hooves. The Buffalo.