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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A 1952s I pulled the penny from my pocket to toss it In the change jar. All my change goes immediately Into the jar upon arriving home. There it collects Until I go to the bank and have it spun into paper. Government printing presses have reduced coins To money crumbs; pennies, more nuisance Than value except when a clerk says, “That'll be $3.01”, And not having a penny means 99 cents more for the jar. Today was different. This time I looked at the date On a coin. Why this time? The reflex of an old habit perhaps. But I haven't collected pennies for years. My old album Is stored away in a box with coins and bills labeled “granddaughters” In case one of them has a curiosity about money before plastic or bitcoin. My penny is stamped with the year 1952 and the letter “s” beneath. “Give ‘em hell" Harry Truman was President then, the war in Korea raged And the Red Menace grew. My ‘52s, a copper “wheat penny”, is no longer Minted, but Abe, the Great Emancipator, now on inflation zinc, endures. Wait, no - that would be too much! Could there be an empty Space in the album still wanting a 1952s? I admit to feeling Some excitement digging through the box and opening The album titled “Lincoln Cents, 1909 - 1958.” But there it was, The place labeled 1952s - and its empty! Oh, I'm a kid again! But where has the penny been all these years since leaving The San Francisco mint? How did it come to be in my “Sooner” Pocket? How many other pockets, purses, or piggy banks have held it? In passing from hand to hand it served to purchase satisfactions, Give help with decisions or carry a wish. The penny gave its youthful Gleaming to many uses now unremembered, yet the simple coin Retains the price for my thinking: “One’s true worth retains its luster, if in our outward dimming We serve to brighten others” Copyright 2017, Paul Thomson
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