Jingles, and can be given away.
Free and musical, not thought about.
Hidden, and found;
Forgotten, and special.
No piggy banks, no penny jars;
Just laundry and candy;
Quarters from Alaska –
Have I ever seen one?
If you’re jingling you can’t hide;
Can give all you have,
And they ask for more.
It can end there, if you carry, some loose change.
“Don’t drain it”, she worries –
But there is always something more,
There is the saying, when you have given all you have,
And really, what else are words for?
A cigarette, two, a moment –
She doesn’t give her last one, and shows him;
Looks into his eyes at his furtive asking, and calms him;
They comment on the rain, the cold – “What is this July?” – and his color is
In her inflection ~
Bridging the ground between them for a music in their banter ~ ~
The headphones on her head make this all possible;
She can slip them off her ears
In lieu of her face, which won’t open all the way.