poetry

I just wrote the following on the rear of a five-dollar bill. The modern kind, you know, with all the white space.

When I was little
I knew a woman
who would give me
candy fish from a jar.
Her name was Helen.
She owned a fruit store
on main street.
Her voice had a rasp.
Her lip had a mustache.
When she gave change,
she did the math out
on a notepad
on the counter,
one step at a time.
She itemized each item.
She mouthed its name.
She looked to me
for affirmation.
I stared back.
Helen is dead now.
Her store is gone.
I still enjoy candy fish.