A cataract of water clinging to the tail of the penny

magnifies its ringing summons, promises not mere

luck, but double happiness

I must have it, bending over in spite of that voice —

that one of my beau, scolding me with

“Leave it for some less fortunate kid.”
Doesn’t see the one hovering just under my

slightly enhanced self-made sistah’s skin,

bawdy, incredulous celebration of better days.

It’s love when he calls me his little grubber

And, truth?   Hovers over a deal as lingeringly as me.
But I just can’t leave double happiness

or just plain luck to someone less appreciative

though I might know that a penny shared is

exponentially luckier to its finder.  I’m satisfied

with double happiness.