Standing outside of the Church
Windy and cold, you approach
Salvation army clothes
Quickly, direct, practiced
No wasted motion
No faked emotion
Have a dollar for the bus, friend?
Pavlovian, I fork over the fare
You dip your head
Gratitude perhaps, not shame
And retreat into shadow
No buses there
I suburbanite, walk away
Shaky in shock
The strike so fast
I stumble on the sidewalk
More money in my pocket
I could have given
Wanted to give
My city roots screaming
Sucker, sap, softy
What would I do the next time?