John Thelin has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2025 Poetry Contest
Pennies from Heaven
Soon they will stop minting pennies.
I will miss their crusty copper ridges,
Abe Lincoln in profile, a calming image
as he stares into a future he could never
imagine over 150 years ago. Time stretches,
an elastic band, for a while, then snaps
back on itself, leaves a welt on a wrist
that tries to flick a fishing line
perfectly into a pond on a lazy summer
day that can cloud over while you doze,
wake to a smell of rain on the way
and ripples of thunder in the distance.
Remember gumball machines that ate up
greedily pennies you saved for the occasion
of fitting them into its slot, and turning
the crank in hopes of a red hot that burned
the roof of your mouth, delicious beyond belief,
your breath as fiery as a dragon
that could not be slain by Saint George
or by any knight on a hapless venture
to rescue a princess or secure a kingdom?
On my walks through town, I still pick up
any penny I discover on asphalt or concrete—
hey! good luck to me today and tomorrow!
as long as they are circulating, these tokens
of the past, not worthless, no, but a direct link
to almost every transaction I have made,
that last cent needed to speed home in magic
sneakers with everything I ever wanted.


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