Where my dollar went

There's a dollar burning a hole in my pocket, just waiting to be spent.

Buy me candy. But me a donut. Buy me laffy taffys. Buy me chips.

Oh yes, this dollar is mine. I earned it rightfully.

Oh yes, I had a bad day and I deserve to use this dollar to buy me a treat.

Mineminemineminemine.

She stands there looking out of place, yet sadly very much part of the facade.

I see her around the neighborhood, walking very quietly, pushing her shopping cart.

I don't remember ever hearing her talk.

These ones, they are rude, they are pushy, they are demanding and put you in an uncomfortable situation.

But she stands there quietly and doesn't say a word.

My mother used to give her money, my mother used to buy her a sandwich, my mother used to talk to her.

My mother doesn't live here anymore. I am not my mother.

I walk by her and instead of turning into the store to pick out my treat, I drop my dollar into her empty cup.

Then I go home.

I can't say I felt so great after giving away my dollar. I definitely did not feel like I am such a great person.

We struggle with ourselves to do the right thing, and though we don't always want to or don't have the best intentions, the action counts for something.

It was a dollar well spent.