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
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