Ms. Frugal

The cameras see Ms. Frugal coming—
She grabs a cart that doesn’t creak.

Ms. Frugal blows past the asparagus

and leafy lettuce, wet from the mist.

Ms. Frugal places a bag of pistachios
deep in the seat of her purse,

making her way through the melons,
her cart silent among the mangos.

Ms. Frugal sniffs a papaya,

pressing her fingers over its temples,

expecting the spongy walls to crumble.
Everything aligns to Ms. Frugal’s eye.

She slowly crawls her car home

and places her papaya in the bread bin,

where she hides last week’s lean pay.
The windows are open as the moonlight goes

winding through the loom: Ms. Frugal silently
weaves a forest green afghan of money.