The Salvation Army man outside the grocery store rings his tin bell to Dean Martin imploring the clouds to open with a torrent of white. He hovers near his red money pot, guarding it, guilting us to toss in lonely quarters whether or not we believe Jesus was someone's son. When we pass without giving he stares us down with brimstone. We drop our eyes to avoid the shame, make internal excuses about already giving even though we haven't. And won't.© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Photo: salvationarmyusa.com
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