The Dollar bill (poem in the Money series)

The Dollar bill

Phil kept a stack of them all uncrumpled,

lined the right way, 60, 70, kept going til One

meant many, One meant holy, or something we save.

All the while the waitress pockets the

dollars under a dead ring white light

washing her from black hair to black toe,

careful to know the end of the night

would amount to a greater black car wash,

a crisp bill, or one with lettering on it,

rarely standing alone in the spent hour.