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Array
(
[sid] => 184316
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A Helping Hand
[time] => 2017-07-09 15:22:12
[hometext] => Giving money to the homeless, serves us, not them.
[bodytext] => She was sitting on the sidewalk with dirty tangled hair; With extended hand and toothless smile, she asked me if I cared. I grabbed a shopping cart and went inside the store; Wondering how many others had turned her down before. Standing at the checkout with two carts full of food; I wrestled with my conscience, shed changed my attitude. Before I left the checkout I had a sandwich wrapped; And as I left , I passed her, and placed it in her lap. Neither of us said a word, she clutched it to her chest; I watched her from the parking lot; I thought Id done my best. She disappeared inside the store, sandwich in her hand; And came out with a bottle, for such had been her plan. She traded food for alcohol; and drank it straight away; A bottle full of whiskey, Id given her today. I don’t give food or money to the homeless anymore; It keeps them out there one more day; alone, exposed, ignored. Try serving Christmas dinner at your local church instead. Or flip hotcakes at Stand Down, and give a vet a bed; Handouts help the hander; she taught me that refrain; Help is there, but first she has to come in from the rain. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 71 [topic] => 66 [informant] => softerware [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => drugabuse )
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