Those little pennies
got pushed off the cliff
we watched them roll
down the high slant—zipping into oblivion

no hands, or tentacles,
or little hooks for them
to save themselves
from having no direction

they were too poor
to own themselves
they just rolled wild
—often found laying on the floor
“oh, its just a penny, I’ll get it later”
little round circular things
going to meet their destiny
until they were out of sight
“Impractical!” they said

But I have hundreds in jars
How about you—you know you do
None the less,
No more shiny brand new
to be minted—
making 99 cents an impossible price!
I will miss our brief encounters
as you were the perfect size