The Adventures of
Penny & Buck

Deep in a piggy bank, dark as a drawer,

lived a shiny new Penny who'd never been poor.

She was cautious and careful and polished and bright,

and she kept all her edges perfectly tight.

Then one day — CLUNK! — a Dollar arrived,

crumpled and wrinkled, but somehow still thrived.

“The name’s Buck,” he announced, with a confident flair,

“I’ve been to a gas station, three vending machines, and a fair!”

Said Penny, ‘You smell like a Hot Pocket wrapper.’

Said Buck, ‘You smell like you’ve never had fun.’

And that was the start of the most unlikely friendship

that any small piggy bank ever begun.

Buck spotted the candy store, eyes growing wide,

“I’ll take ALL of the gummy bears!” he gleefully cried.

“The sour ones! The long ones! The ones shaped like feet!

I shall spend every cent — oh, what a treat!”

But Penny said, ‘Buck, if you spend your whole stack,

what happens tomorrow when gummies you lack?

When you’re bored of the candy and craving a toy,

you’ll have nothing but cavities, sadness, and void.’

So Buck bought HALF the gummies (still quite a lot),

and saved the rest back in their piggy bank slot.

The gummies were eaten. The savings remained.

And Buck didn't even get one cavity. (Well, maybe one. Okay, two. Fine, his dentist wasn't thrilled.)

“We should EARN more money,” said Penny one day.

“We’ll open a stand! We’ll make lemonade! Hooray!”

So they squeezed forty lemons (Penny’s arms were quite sore)

while Buck made a sign that said: ‘LEMONAID — 25 SENTZ OR MORE.’

Penny said, ‘Buck, that’s not how you spell either of those.’

Buck said, ‘Doesn’t matter — watch how sales goes.’

And somehow, impossibly, Buck’s sign drew a crowd,

because his pitch was so charming, so wild, and so loud:

“STEP RIGHT UP! This lemonade cured my uncle’s bad knee!

It once won a trophy! A llama agrees!”

(There was no llama. But nobody asked.)

They sold out by noon. The piggy bank basked.

One Tuesday, a storm rolled in dark and in deep,

and rain filled the piggy bank — ankle to steep.

The coins who had saved had a cushion to float,

but poor Dime McSpendson had spent his last groat.

“I bought seventeen bouncy balls!” Dime cried in distress.

“Where ARE they?” said Penny. “I bounced them, I guess.

They went out the window. They bounced down the street.

I think one is living in Mrs. Lin’s beet.”

But Penny and Buck had a rainy-day stash,

enough for some floaties, some snacks, and some cash.

They helped Dime McSpendson get back on his feet.

And Dime never bounced seventeen balls in one week. (Sixteen, tops.)

Buck saw a toy robot at the dollar store shelf.

“ONE DOLLAR!” he bellowed. “Oh, treat myself!”

He bought it. He wound it. It walked two whole steps.

Then it fell down the stairs and broke into reps.

(Three pieces. Four pieces. Five pieces. Six.

The robot was now a collection of sticks.)

Said Penny, ‘I told you.’ Said Buck, ‘Please don’t gloat.’

Said Penny, ‘I told you.’ Said Buck, ‘I’m a dope.’

Said Penny, ‘I told you — but also, it’s fine.

Sometimes we learn by the cheap broken spine

of a one-dollar robot who lived two whole steps.

Now we know: check the reviews before spending your reps.’

They wanted a skateboard. It cost — twenty bucks.

“That’s forever away,” sighed Buck, “just our luck.”

“Not forever,” said Penny, “just forty-two days,

if we save fifty cents every single which ways.”

So they found an old jar and they labeled it ‘SKATE’

and they dropped in their coins, and they watched the jar wait.

Each day it got heavier. Each day they’d peer in.

Day seven: a jingle. Day fourteen: a grin.

Day twenty-eight Penny said, ‘Buck, we’re so close!’

Day forty-two: skateboard! (Buck ate celebratory toast.)

The trick isn’t magic. The trick isn’t fast.

The trick is a jar with a label — and patience that lasts.

Their friend Nickel Nora had lost all her coins.

(A complicated story involving a goose and some loins.

Of chicken. It’s fine. The goose is fine too.

The coins went into a pond and Nora went ‘boo.’)

Said Buck, ‘Should we help her?’ Said Penny, ‘We should.’

So they pooled what they could — not too much, but some good.

Nora was grateful. She beamed and she glowed.

And three weeks later, when Buck’s lemonade slowed,

Nora came back with a hand-painted sign

that read: ‘BUCK’S AMAZING LEMONADE — TASTES LIKE SUNSHINE.’

(She still spelled it wrong. They didn’t correct her.

The line was so long it went ‘round the whole sector.)

Week one, they saved. Week two, they saved more.

Week three, Buck forgot — but then ran back to the store

of his memory and remembered his goal

and deposited quarters with his entire soul.

Week four arrived crisp on a bright Sunday morn.

Their streak was complete — thirty days! — and they’d sworn

that small bits of money, added each day,

were better than windfalls that just blew away.

The piggy bank shimmered. A badge appeared there:

“STREAK MASTER,” it gleamed in the warm evening air.

And Penny and Buck, full of dreams yet to earn,

curled up in the piggy bank, cozy and stern

and dreamt of the future — of goals, and of jars,

of lemonade stands lit by Saturday stars,

of robots that last more than two little steps,

and all of the magical financial concepts.

(That last line was a stretch. Even they’d agree.

But hey — they’re asleep now. So let’s let them be.)