Passersby and I walk pass a man
lying in a doorway of a house
between Anza and Balboa streets.
He struggles with a length of carboard
to cover himself on this cold morning.
My first impulse is to help cover him,
and offer him the contents in my wallet.
I think of how hard I work for my money,
and wonder why this man isn’t working.
Then I wonder—there, but for the grace of God,
that man could be me?
I slip a twenty into his tremulous hand.
I regret not being more generous,
when I think of my disabled friend
who experiences joy when she offers
to pay for the groceries of the person
waiting on line at the checkout counter.
She delights at paying the tolls of the car
behind her at the Garden State Parkway,
and does the same trick at McDonalds
where she amazes customers every day.
This lady thrives on creating small miracles
by astonishing people with anonymous charity.