I see shallow children through the window
playing by the beach
with parents pushing swings so high
as high as they can reach
The road is slow, the traffic locked
‘til lights change and we move –
drivers with one thing on their mind –
or a thousand thoughts tossing
turning – all of different kinds
Hatchbacks, four-wheel-drives, sports cars
and the odd sedan – Diane,
Mustafa, Willow, Jake and John –
going… going… going –
coming from
The dash reads 8:47 –
fourteen minutes I’ll be late for work
I take a u-turn ‘round the round-a-bout
and then I drive below the tower where
I spend my day – with hopes to thrive
We come from varied pasts – across
the ditch, from southern states
Little Canada – beyond
so disparate, no fear –
in one place at one time
conducting lives we call careers
Working for a second income
striving for promotion for the few
or waiting for a better role beyond –
beyond the horizon past the window past the view
What then for head-sets, staring –
screens aware that eyes are fading
as they read data duller by the day
What then… what then is there to say…
I walk outside at lunch and see a man –
a man with wrinkled face and time to spend
pushing a trolley housing home
along a path that has no end
Next morning there’s a needless noise
outside – a bird is chirping –
sitting atop the street sign
on the corner in my view
I consider him a moment
a happy chap – gratitude his friend –
a noisy miner singing to the few –
Graciousness is holding my hand, too.
—————
Not what we have but what we enjoy constitutes our abundance
(Epicurus)
sensualism 