Another poem written quickly. Prompt: "Friday"
IT'S FRIDAY,
raining,
and I'm on my way to work
in the ancient Volkswagen.
Lately, I've been privy
to a number of human
unkindnesses of
the generic sort.
The usual sniping and
jockeying for impenetrable position.
Also yesterday a colleague told me she
once fell down stairs
on campus. People stepped
over her to get where
they had to go.
Unkindnesses, even the usual
sort, build up in you
after a while.
They make you afriad
of what will happen next.
This old volkswagen, so good
on gas, is never good in
the elements. I can barely
see out the glass.
There's so little between
me and a world that
feels alien today.
What will we do
if we need each other's
help and grace but find we
don't have them to lean on?
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