The Card

Late yesterday I found a soggy piece
Of blue-inked paper in a parking lot,
With someone’s life imprinted in cerise:
Nine numbers and a name; your credit’s shot.
I put it in an envelope and sent
It to the address printed on the back,
And shook my head at one whose careless bent
Could pull her whole financial life off track.
Did I just waste a stamp? I ask myself.
Who knows who had that card before I came?
I have a shredder sitting on a shelf
That would have hid her details just the same,
But doing right is more than guarding pelf.
“The right thing” means right means as well as aim.