A widow, a Karen, and a hipster stood at the ten items or less checkout. The non-conformist in front had twelve delicacies in his basket The legalist noticed this injustice and made a ruckus. The widow, last in line, thought the boy was fine. On the way out of the cut rate grocery, her bank account an empty memory, the widow fingered the last of her money, and gave her change to a panhandler. Her last dollar changed into a prayer. Both she and the beggar ate that night. A generous heart is the widow’s might.
Thanks for being part of this poetry community. If you like this poem, give it a heart.
Can you spare some change.
Share this post