They leaned in as the money man spoke:
You might be best, he said, to just put 500 out –
By which he meant, add three noughts.
I mean, do you really want that house?
They moved back from his veined red face.
No, they said. Thrice no.
We might be best, they chorused, to just put 500 out.
Just get the interest (well, such as it was).
They agreed on everything, even the small-town coffee;
Just the thing to whet the financial whistle.
Then they left, and the waitress’s face set tight