A quarter, dime, and nickel all inside my pocket jeans. She asked for change, to flip a coin. (The normal wear and tear contrived by caustic sarcasm can cause scales to tip.) I reached for metal, came up empty air, a stupid thumb-extended pantomime. So call it. Heads or tails, I landed there unmoving, lost, without her hand in mine. With penny jars and piggy banks, I saved the money meant for rainy days and slot machines. A fool and money part, they say... I think I'd rather live this lot than not. Unlike the former miser, sparing grace, accosted now, I give at valued face.