A weeping woman in the Walgreen’s lot
Accosted me and said her family
Was homeless, and she put me on the spot:
“Twenty, forty dollars, a motel’s fee?”
Near fifty, maybe, portly, poorly dressed,
And by herself, as far as I could tell,
She genuinely seemed to me distressed,
And something in my chest began to swell.
I took my wallet out and opened it:
There were two twenties, which I gave to her,
Enough, I hoped, to be a benefit,
To which she softly said, “I thank you, sir.”
She walked away, and I went to my car,
Happy to have listened to my heart.