Centimental

Occasionally—unfortunately, that means right here and now—this column lapses into verse. More prosaic text will reappear next week.

When Jimmy and Steven killed off the one cent
I thought that a nuisance was stopped
But after a while, I wiped off my smile
As the penny eventually dropped

They’d given no thought to the mess they’d created
Those so-called wise men at the helm
’Cos they’ve scrapped much more from the language
Than they have from the coin of the realm

Let’s suppose I am socking my money away
Must the old school advice now be spurned?
What do I do if it’s no longer true
That a penny saved is a penny earned?

Did they mean that we spend with abandon?
Is the limit now up in the skies?
How can we pound foolish at all
If we can’t be penny wise?

But if I were to offer up my point of view
It would be with a tone of chagrin
How will I know when I’ve said just enough
When I can’t get my two cents worth in?

And if you would not share your insights with me
What price would now have it bought?
I’ll no longer be able to offer to pay
A penny for your thoughts

If I were the Pope or some fancy archbishop
My conscience would tinkle some bell
’Cos if there’s no more pennies from heaven
Perhaps there’s no heaven as well

I won’t fill my loafers with loonies or toonies
Until you back off and relent
And don’t ask me to give you nickels or dimes
When you wont let me give one red cent

So Jimmy and Steven, please reconsider
Give the language a well-earned relief
It’s not weak nor improper to turn back to copper
Why not take the hint, and go tell the Mint
I know Dief would do it, so don’t you eschew it
We’re not talking big bucks, it’s for all us Canucks
And bring back that tan maple leaf.

David Simmonds’s writing is also available at www.grubstreet.ca.