The Wife of a Miser

A quarter, a dime, a nickel or the lowly penny once dropped from a careless hand was never safe from the prying eyes of the Miser. The wig-tips shoes in “Old Man “ style with a radar embedded in the right toe were endlessly searching cracks and crevices for lost coins which no tree’s leaves could conceal from the safety of the Miser’s pockets. Even nature with the most carefully laid plan was no match for the greed of the Miser. The Miser could sweep a quarter from a debtor before he could reach the door and escape the lender’s hot pursuit. The Miser hired me to go to Memphis with him for common labor with the promise of a fine meal. With a vision of a hamburger and fries dancing in my head I was rewarded with sardines and crackers and a turned down mouth and words of “Suck it up.” I was 15 yrs old and dumb. “Boy, You take care of the quarters and the dollars take care of themselves.” were the words of wisdom given to me. I just couldn’t see myself scratching in the leaves for the quarter. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A wrinkle of the eyes and a Miser’s mind searching under dubree for a find or ruse Plundering cracks in sidewalks for a coin, a careless hand pulled out to lose Wing-tip shoes scratching left and right in search for a treasure to save Looking among leaves with unblinking notice for the hiding places they gave His bank held deposits in trust with deeds and wealth on hand Computing Golden savings accounts, stocks, bonds, and cotton land Raking in rent with guarantees, competing with unlimited space Tug and pulling with each new deal with cunning billings and haste Business adventures discussed on a small town street The Miser put up a splendid case with a promise to deny defeat For if a dollar was lost to chance or a quarter gone astray Or a bargain suffered a dime, there’d be a price to pay He lived life reminiscent of a pauper and the wife called him a “chink” But shifty deals ruled by strong hands create odors that stink With all his wealth and power, it never mattered in the end He died with a world of riches but never a penny he’d spend A wife, controlled and beaten down through years of poverty and abuse Ruled by a strong man, never for love, pushed aside with no way to refuse But that frail little housewife with no beauty or worth, no feminine appeal With all caution thrown to the wind, built her mansion on Snob-hill