when the ragtagged fellow
came by with his
empty cup held out,
looking for a cool drink
on the hottest day of the year,
i turned on
the hose very slowly
so he could get
a few drips;
walking by the volunteer
standing by the red kettle
and ringing the handbell,
i reached in my pocket
and dropped a shiny coin
listening as it clinked
against the other change;
as the plate
passes
down the pew
toward me, i pull
out my wallet
and pour
a wee dram
for God;
a drip
a drop
a dram
a dollop of generosity
here and there . . .
if i'm not careful
all my possessions
will dribble away
and i'll end up
like poor Zach
down the street.
(c) 2013 Thom M. Shuman
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
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