First Luck

I pick up a penny,
carefully burnish
its red lustre,
flick it out from 
thumb and middle finger
so it spins like a top

teetering whir
between two sides,
each with equal lightness
maintain the balance,
hum fleetly overground

her eager catch 
before it falls,
the lightness of her thumb
reflected in its face,
she sets it to whirl again

caught and not spun,
the penny placed 
on a laid rail track
before stepping 
to the wrong side

slats light up;
steel trembles quicken 
tinking copper,
locked into shaking,
unable to jump fast enough.

© A. M. Benoit