Change by Sarah

Her pocket change plays to the beat
of the homeless man’s maraca -
coins in a styrofoam cup
He smells of abandon and dark,sweet rum
The same stale scent she wears
after Friday night at the pub.
She drops 10p and hears its clank
he grunts, nods a sort of thanks.
A simple, gentle exchange.
How much of life is change
and people in its wake,
still, throughout, the human constant remains.