The Choice Was His

There stood that tall gumball machine With those colorful round bubblegum balls With the clear glass pedestal encasing circular rings So you can watch the gumball fall In his eight-year-old little hands He held the magic that could make a gumball his That round, ridged, silver coin Twenty-five cents to bubblegum bliss But on the counter beside the gumball machine Sat a circular can with a slot on top With a picture of a sad little girl and bald boy From UNICEF which made him stop He looked at the gumball machine He looked at the coin in his hand He looked at the picture of those kids his age Trying to understand As we walked out of the door to the store He said, “Dad, I don’t really like gum any way I hope you don’t care that I took your change And to some other kids gave it away” I smiled the rest of the day