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?