Change by Sarah Leech-Black

"Change"
Her pocket change jingles
to the beat of the bum's maraca : coins in a styrofoam cup.

He smells of abandon and sweet, dark rum
the same stale scent she wears, on a Friday night out at the pub

She drops 10p, hears it clank
he grunts and shift a sort of 'thanks'
a gentle modest exchange

Leaves on a tree, a toothless grin
So much of life is change
still ,the constant of humanityremains