Alms

Alms

I must be the only woman here
with an orange tucked into her handbag,
adjusting my Christian priorities
as the tramp squats in the narthex.

His manner of taking takes me aback –
no word of thanks, the hasty way
he stashes it in his grimy rucksack,
a thief in possession of treasure.

It wasn’t the choicest fruit, but one
I wanted the least. Minutes ago,
I took the host, yet fail to even recall it,
preoccupied with my alms.