Bless the rubber band that holds night around the horizon.
Bless the dry rot creeping through its tension.
Bless its breaking.
Bless the way the light spills out like shiny pennies from a roll.
Bless the bank of days where I make my withdrawals,
bless my balance in the black,
bless the credit of my soul.
Bless the stash of candy tellers kept by the counter at Yadkin State Bank.
Bless pneumatic tubes that gifted us deposit slips and suckers.
Bless you, Doris, favorite teller, always good for double suckers.
Bless the Doris who will close my overdrawn account.
May it end with copper dropping on marble tile, spinning, wobbly till it stops.

Matt Poindexter’s (www.mattpoin.com) poems have appeared or are forthcoming in the Best New Poets series, The Missouri Review, Chicago Quarterly Review, The Greensboro Review, and elsewhere. He previously served as the editor of Inch (Bull City Press). He lives in Hillsborough, North Carolina.