wishcoin

in hot summer air
that sticks to you like bad dreams,
I threw a coin in
the sad ashen mouth of the wishing well

but I wasn't making a wish,
I was letting it go--
sometimes you have to throw out ideals
like moldy old candy

in cold, callow hands,
the Wishcoin can burn,
heated by every disparity
between life and love, castles and condos

so I -- dropped
the Wishcoin and I waited
for a settling splash
that would never sound.

So I trade singing lullabies
for the spite of spitting diatribes;
Saccharine daydreams
for the sleep of sullen routine.

So I went home,
and I put on a suit,
and I grew a few feet,
and I gave up.


They call me a grownup now.