Clanking Coins

The weight of sixty four cents in my pocket Badgers me with the most vexatious of clanking sounds The lack of sixty four cents in her wallet Is that net worth amount of food missing from the mouth of her kin To Me useless, dispensable coins designed to frustrate To Her the savior found on the street that will sustain Glossed over by my eyes is her desperation for what I loathe Lower now my pocket dips with guilty of my heavy conscience For while I was impatient with her stagnant dwelling at the cashier She clambered through her purse for money she knew she did not have The misfortune engraved on her abashed face to return the items Weighs burdensome on myself Lifted are the clanking coins from my pocket Finding themselves a place at the cashier One hand on her shoulder, one grasping her items Placed back on the counter Her indisputable look of testimonial gratefulness Provoked my apprehension This wasn’t about the money Rather the act itself