She bargained hard for fifty cents or less,
Even as children's voices echoed in his head,
Their empty bowls, their hunger, their distress—
"Lower the price- or I'll walk away," she coldly said.
His weathered hands trembled as he agreed,
Each apple a prayer for rice his family craved,
She smiled and left, believing she'd succeeded,
While his dignity slowly caved.
That evening, drowning in her gilded fame,
She tossed three hundred dollars to the floor,
For half-touched plates and wine she couldn't name,
While he still swept outside her door.
Why do we crush the ones who need us most,
Then crown ourselves with generosity's boast,
When kindness costs us nothing but our pride,
And love should lift, not push the poor aside?
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