I don’t look you in the eyes because I don’t have time to stop.
You only ask for a dollar.
The smallest bill I have is a twenty, and that’s too much.
Just a dollar would do.
I roll in late, but still grab a doughnut and coffee before I go in.
You rummage through a McDonald’s bag you found in the street.
The doughnut is not my favorite kind, and the coffee is cheap.
There’s nothing to eat in the bag.
I stand to sing worship to God.
You sit on the curb, tired of standing.
“Everyone needs compassion, a love that’s never failing…”
The store owner yells at you not to sit there. Bad for business.
The sermon this morning is on the mount.
You find a broken shard of mirror.
“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter…” When is lunch?
You don’t know your own reflection.
I take some bread and juice, it’s better than nothing.
You plunge the glass into you.
The yummy blood of Christ, poured out for me.
Worthless, your blood pours into the city drain.
I found this twenty dollars in my pocket, I might as well go out for lunch.