Gift Card

Credit or debit the machine asks me!
Beep doo bleep to you too.
I can choose both on my bank card.
Enter your ______ club card and you’ll get your savings.
Save me, save me, save me some money with a card I hear calling.
I look at the gift card counter by chance,
Mushed there by the traveling flock of shoppers.
Still, I hear that same voice crying to save her.
Save me, the back of each gift card says with a bar code to scratch off.
Monica, the ten year old girl from Ecuador I sponsored.
They gave me her card almost like a 3 X 5 drivers license.
Except she can’t go anywhere with this unless I approve her.
Stamp of approval!
Looks like my baby sister...pelo morena..ojos cafe...but...less happy.
Plus the Holy Ghost is whispering on my heart.
Sssaaaave hhhhhhher....Sssssaaave hhhher...
I look at those gift cards again.
$10 _boop__ tunes, $25 __bleep__ movies, Amazonian prices even for me...
But would they save this little girl from the rain forest?
My origins have seamed me to here from Guatemala...
My roots have transplanted me here from the Phillipines...
I can trace my tribe back to the natives of the pueblos through the southwest...
Native American...I have a card that says so!
But she has no card...except that registration card that is in the dump now, because I
was foolish with my funds and “couldn’t have another expense”.
I hope you can forgive me Monica.
I pray you live to see your next birthday.
Because I’m gonna find that registration, and send you a birthday card.