"Change"

"Do you want your change?"

The cashier inquired. As if I had money to spare.

A nickel, some pennies, a dime, perhaps.

She figured that I didn't care.

 

I thought of those people in less developed countries,

Who had barely enough food to survive.

Would they refuse some coins because they were inconvenient to carry,

When they needed every cent to stay alive?

 

"Did you want your change?" the cashier repeated.

She assumed my attention had waned.

"It's only a few cents. You could put it in the tip jar."

I blurted out: "Do you think I'm insane!?"

 

"I know for a fact, you're well-paid for your service.

You hardly have dependence on tips.

Meanwhile refugees are fleeing poor 3rd world countries

In over-crowded, un-seaworthy ships."

 

She pointed to another jar, labeled: "Help Feed the World's Poor".

I thought: Yeah, that I believe.

She must think me naive.

I'll fall for that one, for sure.

 

I called her bluff and held out my hand.

She must have thought my reaction quite strange.

I said, "I have a solution: my own charitable institution.

Just give me my f--ing change."

 

B. Kite -- 2/19/2023

 

Done