Back when I used paper money,
I’d always arrange the greenbacks
with the dead white men’s faces
looking at me, right-side up,
by descending denomination—
Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton,
Jackson and, if it’s a good day,
I’m sure I’ve wasted more time orienting
the bills than I would have spent
digging them out from the haphazard.
It’s like trying to write poems
with the same number of lines
in each stanza— a futile effort
at bringing order out of chaos
but sometimes it works.
(Written for the Living Poetry Prompt: Quirk.)