It's Still Life

Charmed, I’m Sure

I have a charm in my pocket.
It’s self-soothing, and lazy
as a drunken smile.

A holistic secret for my pressed bones.
And I play it like whimsy,
like Bach’s cords.

Cajole it like a sulky moon.

It’s an old coin
with a queen’s head and
a vague thistle.

No worries. No ointments.
And I am happy to let
clear air sweep my conscious.