For Dad.

On my way down the hall I stopped on a sharp inhale
a penny rested heads-up
on my door mat.
It shined and I might have pocketed it

a nostalgic good luck welcome home greeting

but I’d just mounted the mezuzah
and they’d thrown pennies at my dad as a kid
when they found out what he was.

I let it sit.
Convinced myself it was a wallet drop
or finger slip, the coppery wake of a magic trick.

They want to replace your lead bullets with copper
so the birds of prey who feast later stay healthy longer.

Copper always seems to find its mark.