Begging’s Not My Business

Coins in her pillow case.

        Perhaps with current inflation

this was the new rate 

         that tooth fairies dispense. 

Downstairs in the kitchen, 

         she heard the brittle rattle of pans.

A Sunday morning fry up for two,

          washed down with whiskey in cans.

She’d willingly exchange

           a penny for his thoughts.

But concluded that punches

            are fiscally just noughts

and crosses to bear.

            Just the counting of small change.