The Lost
Don’t know how it is where you live ~ this poet has read that there are places in our world in which people still genuinely care for one another.
In America, if you are asked, “How are you?” please do not attempt to answer. It will only confuse and dismay the person who asked you.
They’re looking for a one-word answer:
“Fine.”
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Recorded Reading (1:19):
*****
The Lost
.
Nobody smiles at them when they come home
Nobody happier to see them be
Than those same old banal repeat advertisements
Recycling upon the household TV
.
Nobody thanks them for their loving labor
For endlessly unpleasant dank drudgery
Nobody notices their presence there
Just as they’ve always appeared there to be
.
When wanted, available, when not, invisible
Ignored, passed over, belittled perhaps
By all the home’s brighter and faster and colder
Vig’rously uncaring juvenile chaps
.
Faithful to partners who have grown so used
To their counterpart’s near presence that it would take
The actual irremediable loss of
That partner once more them a treasure to make
.
But why should we, when seeing this, feel aught badly?
What reason can there be for making a fuss?
In modern life, after all, so ordinary ~
Described here be fatally near all of us
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This poet/editor is physically disabled, and lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.
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