Memories, dreams, reflections are the stuff
From which my penny poems are made each day
And typically a small prompt is enough
To set each one galumphing on its way.
Today it’s my old college memory
Of “Penny Poems” sold at the bookstore:
“Poems, Penny Each” read the marquee
Showing a drummer from a marching corps.
I wasn’t writing any poems then
Though as an English major reading them
And stashing those experiences for when
The motive came to try to carve a gem.
My verses, though, won’t cost you anything:
Just sit and read—pretend you hear me sing.