I Confess

I'm on a doorstep in the welcome sun,
In town. It's early spring. I'm idle,
Merely watching things: the ships
At anchor in the bay, the people passing
In their cars and trucks, and those who
Pass on foot. If I peer through the window
Of the restaurant across the street, I see
The waiters bustling and the patrons
As they eat. On a nearby corner, people
Paw through trash and beg for money.
It seems as if the other members of my
Species have (or think they have) specific
Tasks to do, and these become the ways
They see themselves. This one is
A butcher. Here's a beggar. Here's
An engineer. And what am I?, I ask
Myself. No wage or trade has captured
Me, not like a thousand doorsteps have.
I guess I'm just an idler, one who likes
Observing things.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 41 times
Written on 2021-04-13 at 19:30

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