A grizzled, gap-toothed man asks to break a twenty for his bill. I keep all m’fives, he tells the waitress.
The man at the counter laughs. I like keeping all my money, too.
Naw, the fives. He holds a bill aloft. The ones with E.
When I was little and loud, my favorite word was, Why.
Because I said so, they replied, a hammer smashing the universe to dust. It coated my eyes, choked my throat, settled like rocks along my spine.
Powerful tools, hammers. They break and build, I learned.
I swivel right. Why E’s, I say. Why fives?