Pocket Change
my father wasn't ready for the joys of fatherhood
after three more children he disappeared for good
it was the 1960's in the land of Brigham Young
I was 5 years old and she was 21
she was a waitress at the Wild Horse Cafe
smells of food & coffee traveled home with her each day
pockets of her dress were always tearing at the seams
heavy with the silver of ten percent gratuities
and those pockets full of coins came from hours on her feet
nickels, dimes and quarters that she used to make ends meet
when I think back on it now it seems beautiful and strange
how much she overcame with pocket change
I remember a friend came by one day with twenty dollars in his fist
He got it from his dad who was an opthamologist
He said he'd never miss it, it was only pocket change
If I could get some money too we could ride out on the range
Her uniform was hanging up behind the bathroom door
She was still asleep from having worked the night before
I grabbed as many handfuls as my young pockets would hold
Spent it with my buddy at the drugstore down the road
and those pockets full of coins came from hours on her feet
nickels, dimes and quarters that she used to make ends meet
when I think back on it now it seems beautiful and strange
how much I have to show from pocket change
she was at the kitchen table when I came back that afternoon
staring at her coffee as she stirred it with her spoon
the coins I left behind were stacked in rows next to her hands
when I saw that she was crying I came to understand
that those pockets full of coins came from hours on her feet
nickels, dimes and quarters that she used to make ends meet
when I think back on it now it seems beautiful and strange
how much of who I am was in my mother's pocket change
Troco de Bolso
meu pai não estava pronto para as alegrias da paternidade
após mais três filhos, ele desapareceu de vez
era a década de 1960 na terra de Brigham Young
eu tinha 5 anos e ela tinha 21
ela era garçonete no Wild Horse Cafe
cheiros de comida e café a acompanhavam todo dia
os bolsos do vestido dela sempre rasgavam nas costuras
pesados com as moedas de dez por cento de gorjeta
e aqueles bolsos cheios de moedas vinham de horas em pé
centavos, dimes e quarters que ela usava pra se virar
quando penso nisso agora parece bonito e estranho
quanto ela superou com troco de bolso
lembro que um amigo apareceu um dia com vinte dólares na mão
ele pegou do pai, que era oftalmologista
ele disse que não ia sentir falta, era só troco de bolso
se eu conseguisse um dinheiro também, poderíamos andar pelo campo
o uniforme dela estava pendurado atrás da porta do banheiro
ela ainda dormia, depois de ter trabalhado na noite anterior
eu peguei o máximo que meus jovens bolsos conseguiam carregar
gastei com meu amigo na farmácia ali perto
e aqueles bolsos cheios de moedas vinham de horas em pé
centavos, dimes e quarters que ela usava pra se virar
quando penso nisso agora parece bonito e estranho
quanto eu tenho pra mostrar do troco de bolso
ela estava na mesa da cozinha quando voltei naquela tarde
olhando para o café enquanto mexia com a colher
as moedas que deixei pra trás estavam empilhadas ao lado das mãos dela
quando vi que ela estava chorando, comecei a entender
que aqueles bolsos cheios de moedas vinham de horas em pé
centavos, dimes e quarters que ela usava pra se virar
quando penso nisso agora parece bonito e estranho
quanto de quem eu sou estava no troco de bolso da minha mãe