The Handout

I saw him at the curbside
when I stopped for a light.
I thought I would ignore the guy,
but that just wasn’t right.

His sign claimed he was homeless,
a veteran, so it said.
I glanced from him back to the light
and saw it was still red.

He looked like he was homeless.
He was a sorry sight.
He had a scraggly weathered look,
reflecting his dark plight.

Yeah, it pulled at my conscience.
How could I let this be?
And in my mind I thought that this
could just as well be me.

But I had read about this.
This could be just a scam.
Some of these folks make quite a lot.
But still I thought, “Well, damn.”

How could I just do nothing?
What if he’s really poor?
A twenty sure could help him some.
Or should I give him more?

With no one else behind me,
these thoughts ran through my head.
I could have driven off by then
but gave a bill instead.

It only was a twenty.
Not much, a paltry fee.
But it did ease my conscience some.
A blessing, you’d agree.

That money was enough for
a pretty decent meal.
And that might help him through the day.
That’s if his need is real.

But it’s still nagging at me.
Was I played for a fool?
Well, maybe, but that was my choice.
Follow the Golden Rule.

In fact, I hope he scammed me,
that this was just a role.
‘Cause it would be far worse if he’s
a helpless, homeless soul.