Wednesday, April 11, 2007

ICFAB's poetry closet

Some people get a poetry corner. Me? I'm just a brain in a fish tank, so all I get is a poetry closet--which is really just the janitor's closet, but the janitor hasn't been seen since the Morbo The Perfectly-Normal Vampire Hamster incident. So without further ado, adieu.

“The Quarter,” or,
“Musings on the Lack of Sentience in American Currency”

I found a quarter in a ditch
And put it in my pocket.
I pulled it out later to examine it.
Both sides were scarred and gashed.
All the edges were worn down smooth,
Which made it look much smaller.
What a life it must have had!
What things it must have seen!
What stories it could tell!
Except, of course, quarters aren’t alive.
And, of course, quarters can’t see.
And, of course, they cannot speak,
Despite all that stuff about “money talks.”
Wait a minute! This isn’t even a quarter!
It’s only a nickel!
So I threw it back in the ditch.
Stupid nickel!

Everybody swing by and tell them that you're boycotting them!

1 comment:

The Drive-by Blogger said...

The most moving ode to coinage I've ever read. I will never look at a quarter or a nickle the same way again. Assuming of course, that I've ever posses any again...I'm not real good with money.