Tuesday, November 10, 2015

                    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.