The Turn of a Coin

The turn of a coin

If the world were a million pounds,
I would have spent but a penny.

One bright spring day I decide enough is enough.
Slip the latch; up and leave
to claim my million pounds.

I spend a year in New York, two in London,
living the life; the biggest parties, the best champagne,
the friends, the acquaintances, the acquaintances of friends.
The delusion of the wealthy.

Then, one August day
a knock on my door, a man in a suit
claims he is from the bank. He says
I have an overdraft, tells me I'm broke.
My million pounds have been spent.

The acquaintances leave, and the friends follow shortly.
They take the penthouse, the portraits and the power.
The parties stop.
I am left with a bus ticket home.

In a forgotten house in a forgotten village, a heart remembers how to beat.

I stride through these once weary streets with a growing sense of purpose
as the road winds closer to the familiar doorway of home.
The first few trees are starting to show the beginnings of blossom.

As I stand by the garden gate, I reach into my pocket
and my fingers brush a small, near-forgotten penny.

It still shines.