Dr. Sander’s wife
is a woman of means
who dresses down
when she visits
food pantries
as do her neighbors.
They take surplus in
every few weeks.
At the end of the year
they claim a tax exemption.
A neighbor told her
how to do it while
staying out of dark
and murky places.
Together they drive
cans and bottles to
their suburban pantries
run by nice people who
serve the frail elderly or
those laid off
and looking for food
to maintain a lifestyle
and pay their mortgage
while finding a job.
Dr. Sander’s wife would
never drive into the city
and help the destitute.
Why go into harm’s way
just to be free of clutter
and pick up a little
tax exemption.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem