Sore Thumb

People have to do these things, I tell myself,
A creature out of place inside a building's
Lobby. Someone must direct the calls,
And someone has to count the money
Going out and coming in, and others
Meet and make up plans. The guys
In hard hats fix the walls. The women
And the men in suits, with cases,
Come, intent on sales, and, somewhere,
On a floor above, an immigrant is
Cleaning toilets. Each is useful. All
Are paid, and commerce, whirring,
Clicking, keeps its own and those
Apart alive, even creatures, such
As this one, pounding keys and out
Of place, producing poems, almost
Useless, but not quite, I tell myself.
Someone must do such things.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2015-06-25 at 14:53

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