HOW IT IS WITH THE MEEK
They are pulverized into earth
while we make our mobile deposits,
while we touch the lengths
of each other’s bodies.
They are mowed down again.
The roads ache with them.
The parks are heavy
with their shopping carts
and plastic bags.
In waiting rooms,
game shows play above
their slumped bodies
like conundrums.
We’ve lost our faith
sometime in the last century.
They layer in clothes to
simulate an embrace. The core
hardens. The pure flesh hardens
and powders. We prefer them
hooded for fear we see ourselves
and thus pass by them: all furred,
twisted, and quiet like road kill.
