"Flipping Coins" by Whitney Egstad

You pulled a trick nickelfrom your father's walletand flicked it, struck thumbnail to knucklelike a matchin one rugged hand. We openedour lips, only slightly, so the mooncould not polish our teeth,and we split a gamble:I bring a board gameor you bring a bucketof beer to the riverbank.My mother said nevergo down to the river.Your father saidwe are just two spitsin a handshake, so you let mecall the coin. Our pupils dartedinto your palm as the silver revolved in a spiralbetween us. You were always the flicker.Whitecaps were shining like alloysslicing the moonlight into scraps.Your pontoon taunted the river things. The minnowswere dizzy with want.