Occasional Doggerel

The Valediction

I hear their sighs and mutters
When I slow their happy momentum.
Youth is hungry and cruel.
I calculate per centum.

Coin by coin, I count my change.
They think me slow and mean.
I dodder for their benefit.
It’s hard when you’re eighteen.

Then I smile and take my leave,
And put away my purse.
“Fuck you,” I say, as I nod my head
And, as always, keep my blessing terse.