Delivery
Burly, brown uniform askew Distressed scowl shielding her face Switching to frantic As you open the front door To receive a package Could you please put it here? You gesture to just inside the door With a grunt, she throws it in Then races back to her truck We think someone arrives empty As they move into our space Cashier, bank teller, shopkeeper, librarian, barista Neighbor, teacher, mail carrier, fellow walker You, burdened with this and that Don’t see everyone else is, too Perhaps just diagnosed with cancer Lost a parent or friend Had a fight with a partner Or longs for touch Listing grocery items not to forget later Who knows what’s in the big box Carried by others Whirling about in their own space
It's hard to drum up the energy for compassion toward someone else who might be dealing with something as tough or tougher than I am in that moment. It's an art. A skill. Perhaps practice makes it easier.
Our ever advancing technology seems more and more to be headed toward isolationism. Your poem reflects the need for community caring, how do they build that into a 0 1 database?