There’s a yard sale
this morning
on a side street.
There’s an unhoused person
on the main street leading to that
and on the highway
that you can reach
easily from there, there are
a dozen cars spread out
going one way, another dozen
going the other,
and not one person
in any car knows
anyone going the other way;
of course, this is
how the place runs —
one person selling,
another person begging,
twenty-four
or more taking no interest in either,
all going on their own errands
in the morning sunlight.
Some of these people are happy, others
less so; some were drained
of any un-based emotion
ages ago; some people
live in a glass house and
some people put their trust
in hard wood, in brick, in stone;
there are some
who don’t have anywhere
to put it
but we don’t really talk
about anyone
any more than we have to —
after all, it’s a gorgeous
Saturday morning
and why waste breath on those
who don’t come into our lives?
They walk by the street
where we live, drive by
on the highway uncaring
until they do. It’s
a beautiful day today,
after all. So lovely
you don’t feel you need
to notice anyone,
anyone at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T