dollars

I was Sapphira and kept back a dollar
Because I wanted to buy a can of Coke.
It cost me seventy-five cents,
And it didn’t taste good.
The rest I gave to the Latino man
Who dried off my car.
And I felt so generous that I expected
A thank you
Or something.
The quarter I put in my secret stash
Of money to give away
Because I couldn’t keep it to spend.

I want a thousand dollars to give to the single mom
Who waits on my table some years hence.
It’s called grace, charity.
I ought to know because I’ve been given it.
She went and got herself knocked up.
She screwed around. She messed up.
And now she’s fighting hard to make it.
So with my thousand dollars in my purse,
I remember the times I screwed around,
And somebody showed me grace.
So I hand her the cash.

Or I will, provided I don’t keep a dollar back
To buy a can of Coke.