It’s easy to hate them,
what with all their downcast eyes
and upturned noses.
It’s easy to be put off by their
back-and-forth between metro roar
and uninformed quips in
arrogant voices.
Easy to scoff at the screens,
blaring beneath each
chest-tucked chin.
Easy to see yourself as other-
as better.
Then, that trickling shame
that wells from listening.
“Doesnt matter how many winters
I make it through, I’m still surprised
to see the flowers!”
We’re all the same,
just perched on adjacent high towers.
pm poetry 