Dollar Bill

The dollar bill I found in Barton Springs.
Was eight feet down. In meters, maybe three.
(My buddy, Loïc, forty meters, laughs!)
The money random patron jumped in with.
Inside a pocket, then forgot about.
From frantic kicking motion was dislodged.
Worked from the pocket, then in water swam.
Like me, immersed completely in the springs.
It turned and floated halfway in between
the surface and the bottom, where it sank.
Half covered by the flora underneath.
My watchful eye, unfocused as I swim.
Most recognizable is currency.
Those patterns trained, familiarity.
An object handled almost every day.

The motivation that I had when but a boy.
To swim down to the bottom with one breath.
In pools, was mostly silver that I found.
Tried to recall the most I had retrieved.
In tens of cents, my treasure’s measurement.
In man-made pools, it’s easier to see.
I’d never found more money in a pool.
(Once stepped from car, 140 bucks
upon the ground, in dusty parking lot.)

Would have preferred to pluck from fish’s mouth.
A crawdad might have held in pinching claw.
Each sparrow dead, I know I’m not forgot.
Assurance of the taxes that I owe.
My Lord and Savior, to the depths directs.
When Caesar sends his bill, I must respond.
That Peter might have paid the tax for Christ.
The price that Jesus paid exceeds by far.
It’s sacrilege to make comparison.
I walk the earth, not yet gained full release.
No death-wish do I carry any more.
Still worry of the government that rules.
In fact, would tax the dollar that I found.
No more this poem serve as evidence.

Next time I’m swimming, to the springs return.
Will cast the dollar back into the depths.
To salamander and the slipp’ry eel.
Can take the money, use it for themselves.
Can buy a snow cone from the vendor’s stand.