They’re phasing out the penny.
We’ll see a lot fewer little Lincolns
to remind us how he set slaves free.  

At age ten I used to shoot dimes
from the free throw and three point lines.
I was short with coke bottle eyeglasses  

but I was lonely and my parents were fighting
inside the house, working on their divorce,
so I hid in the narrow driveway and got  

accurate so the ball wouldn’t roll into the grass
or onto the oil spill in the pavement. Right
after Dad left, Mom signed me up  

for Boys Club Basketball. It cost $20
to join the team. She showed up with a $10 bill
hidden inside a jar of pennies so the coach would  

pity her, so she could play
the poor suffering little woman,
as I shook with shame, shouted  

shoot, shoot, shoot, and I shot, and I shot.
Without my dad there to protect me from her
insanity, I felt worthless as a penny  

and trapped like a penny in that jar,
seven more years in that haunt
with no one to call fouls on her  

and with no Lincoln coming to free me.