Rusty Coins

I know a man with a rusty coin.

Held tight,

Deteriorating in the palm of his hand,

Only to fall on the floor

after his last gasp.

I know a man with a rusty coin.

Propped at his desk in crispy white shirt

Calendar full,

Heart empty,

Hoping his passion for writing will pass.

I know a man with a rust coin.

Sitting in bleachers

Watching his star-spangled child perform

Holding and molding,

Telling others what he might have done.

I know a man with a rusty coin.

Whose hands held little,

But face said much,

About twists and turns, cuts and bruises.

Never shared,

Secrets till the end.