Cha-Ching | Anne Marie Wells Poetry

Photo by Ays Be on Unsplash

You coined new names for the flaws
I didn’t know I had. They rained
from your mouth, spilled
into my hands, too fast, too many
to catch in my shirt.
Spilling.
Spilling.
The floor beamed with silver-plated
men. I didn’t know what would happen
when you pulled my lever. I didn’t know
you’d see my smile as three cherries
announcing
“You win.”