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I imagine putting that pound coin in my mouth
tonguing it from heads to tails
and back again.
As you walked in,
a clock somewhere struck eight,
while the minute hand of the one I was eyeing
clicked its thirtieth tick.
Your hair
your skirt
your make-up
your eyes straight ahead
told me
you were out of my league.
Then that fumble of fingers
had the coin falling from your grip.
Your one flaw was all I needed to say my name.
Like a one-armed bandit on triple seven
I rattled out the stories of my life
and still you said yes to a coffee I wouldn’t make
and paused on the bridge over the canal
to kiss me.
I could love that pound coin forever.
Take its metallic tang again and again.
Sue Finch 