Pocket change is a bother to most.
Coins seems to propagate.
There are coins on the dresser
and in a jar,
coffee table decorations
and small leather purses,
and in every coat and pants pocket.
On the dash,
sidewalk and in the driveway they lie,
leftover from important buys.
A residual,
a bothersome thing.
Heavy, loose
and always in the way,
change is one more little curse.
But to you and me,
pocket change is much more.
Each coin gives us pleasure.
It is part of our life game.
At your birth the tradition started.
Not a coin would be spent.
Into the gin decanter and then to the bank.
Each coin
in the bottle bought a moment of college.
A penny in change was little fun compared to $.99.
A found coin was even more pleasure.
I found and you watched.
Friends found and you watched.
It was your grandpa and your college.
How many pennies?
How many quarters?
How many trips to the bank?
And now you are in college.
The gin decanter
has long since worn out.
Piggy banks have come and gone.
Still the coins we saved
were pleasure tokens.
We saw pleasure for you
with each deposit.
Your pennies came
from us and not from heaven.
They were our caring score card.