I’m sure that you are, too, but I’m bombarded with requests
For money, every single day, I feel like it’s a test:
Is this lady prone to guilt? Will pictures do the trick
Of people—all in dire distress—widowed, wounded, sick?
What special word would make her give, and not to hesitate
To write a nice check instantly, and step up to the plate,
Not toss it on a pile, where it would sit, day after day,
Until she finally throws it out because it’s in the way?
Guilt is not the feeling that I have at times like these,
It’s just that there are way too many worthy folks to please,
And so, instead of giving more to certain ones, I must
Donate a small amount to each, or bank account goes bust.
I guess I could pare down the list, but who would I leave out?
Our military is a must—those hurt—without a doubt,
Deserve my help, as do police and firemen, all who strive
To keep Americans abroad, and those at home, alive.
And groups for fair elections, also term limits for those
Who’ve been in Congress so long, that is all each of them knows.
But there are those in Congress whom I like because they fight
Against those with the power and will to take away my rights.
And so, today, I stood before a mound of envelopes
From charities and people seeking help, with their high hopes
That I, as a recipient of things they do for me,
Will show appreciation and donate, unselfishly.
And with a sigh, I totalled up the small amounts to each
With hopes I helped a little with the goals they strive to reach—
Although I know, tomorrow, I will probably get more,
I’m sorry, but my poor check-writing hand has gotten sore.
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