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Poem

They say it’s rude to stare 
But staring is caring 
So forgive me if I’m staring
I’d have you know it’s for a good cause
I’m looking at people 
Those people
With the backpacks on their backs
I'm talking about all of us
The slim and starved, the fat and well fed
Followers of this and that fad
Some slow, others fast
But either way, you know, people 
Various shapes and sizes. Arriving, departing,
Standing still, pacing about
Milling around
Adoring fans, raving critics
Fact checkers on everyone’s heels
Telling stories, spinning yarn 
Embroidering anecdotes
Or trying hard
To understand what’s taking place
Getting somewhere and nowhere
Giving in, giving up, getting in, getting out
Giving way, giving, giving away
Getting in line, grinning, getting away
All of them carrying something on their backs
Gold, frankincense, myrrh; gossip, weed or hot air
Convicts aboard the Con-Air, 
Fresh Princes of Bel-Air
Faces plain and simple 
Puzzled looks and open books
Sweet faces with dimples
Struggling, strangled, straddled, blank looks
Cuddling, frazzled, wise fools
Dreaming about this and that
Beaming, streaming live, screaming
Looking around
Visions of the sweet by and by
Dreams of happy ever after
Pimps, prophets, prostitutes and priests
Criminals, cops, politicians, finks
Jesters making funnies, people laughing out loud 
Secretly lamenting 
But filled with hope for the future
Ridiculous gestures to make a point
Perhaps two, about choices, about making a point
Free but among the captives by the big river
With all of them that wept over what they had lost
And all this, of course, is just an educated guess

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