The High Interest of Grace

The bill is soft, a pulp of faded green,

the cleanest thing that he has ever seen.

I fished it from the dryer’s linty trap,

a crinkled map of someone else's gap.

He stood there with his eyes a watery red,

I gave him what should buy my milk and bread.

The cost of being kind is fairly steep,

a three-day fast while he gets something cheap.