Penny

A penny worth a pound, worth a search, worth a beg, worth a thought. The smell sticks to my fingers like glue. Soon after usage I cannot open my fist. Between my teeth I used to spread, the bronze and copper metal. Across my knuckles the coins do roll, from whose pocket have they come I cannot know. The year I read and do not understand; this penny is far older than me. How many lives has it touched and will continue to? How long have I had this, sat in emergency funds? I think, some, at least 10 years, maybe more, maybe less - what will I ever do with them. They are numerous, true, but almost valueless, too. I have many pennies and a few pounds. I cannot eat them and they are not tools; their use is mysterious, some would say in the clouds. I have many pennies, and hold on to them I will. Pennies, pounds and faces, all strange, all mine - a collective spirit, a metric and symbol; what is your value--I will never know.