In tightest dress they enter,
Greedy eyes on folded tables
squeeze three sides from every square
(the finest boxclips in their hair).
For each fork, two tines
four times each, eight fines reach
those branches low with cashiers;
hiss flat cheers for porridge.
“Half an ounce? I’m famished, Trish!”
“Let’s have the check for damages,
and write it off to Revenue.”
(A Pound for Pen and Pence for Pounce)
A Festival for Spendthrifts