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Saturday, May 14, 2011


I sit in a sidewalk café

(There are not enough in this city)
a busy street – many rush by
within their own worlds

and the worlds of those with them
who share their time.
All different – every one.
Brown, white, faces, bodies

Every one
a person to themselves.
distinct and separate.
We know that now.

I watch them - some rush,
Some laugh, not hurried
I think about them
Some interesting – others not.

The short Chinese woman
wobbling a little
following her husband;
cannot keep up.

A young girl, midriff showing
An older woman - a flower person
of decades long past. Still trying.
Not interesting.

The traffic –noisily struggling.
A truck with a painted sign
for a cause. I try to read,
but it is gone, behind many others.

A woman with a stroller,
That baby will grow
to become a person
different from every other.

A man in a suit
A woman – well dressed
Why is it, that at such a moment, more women than men
still turn my head?

There are many of us.
Is what they see in me,
if they see me at all,
different from
   what I see in them?

We are all distinct.
So must we also think differently
– each one of us?
Is what they think
different  for every one?

Yet they all - we all – are asked to think
this way or the opposite.
black against white
on a hundred different issues.

For it or against it,
With us or against us.
With all-too-few a grey,
Although the world is a thousand thoughts,
and a thousand different colours.


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