Money Matters

When I was small, I'd take my evening bath
in the big castiron tub with tiger feet.
Daddy, just home from work,
would often visit me.
With two fingers, he'd fish in his vest pocket,
pull out -- SURPRISE!! -- a copper penny, (maybe two!),
which he'd pitch into the water.
Shrieking with pleasure, I'd spank the suds
and splash joyously till I found
my treasure.
"Shine it up, Mouse," he'd smile.
"Make Abraham Lincoln glow!"
It was a private time.

Four wars later, at a mall that was once an orchard,
in a time when one cent won’t buy any joy or thoughts,
I pitch a penny in the Wishing Well.
Shoppers, chubby from burgers and fries,
shrieking at each other over the Muzak,
tuck plastic chargecards into glo-plum codpieces
sealed with velcro ... and, with Elvis pouts,
ignore Abe.
Sullen foxes with inchlong grapejam talons
couldn't grasp something so small.
Overhead, a copper moon glows,
and seems to smile at me.
It is a private time.

© Maggie Morley, 1996

Poems by Maggie Morley

The Albany Poetry Workshop