Perspective

Sitting alone on the stairs outside the store,
I watch them
As they go through their daily routine.

The blind old man playing his music
For the few cents thrown in his bowl.
Some people hesitate,
"Is he one of those chauffeur-driven beggars?"
Others walk on by,
Oblivious.

The loitering youngsters,
They don't seem to have a care in the world, you say.
Have we asked them?
Are we listening to understand?

The pretty young salesgirls in their smart uniforms
And early morning faces
As yet unbroken by a smile.

The people, they surge pass,
They seem bent on a mission,
As if to sprint towards an invisible finishing line,
Not looking in any direction,
Eyes seeking but seeing nothing
Only what they want to see.

The guard, he opens the door,
Espies an unwanted thing on his stairs.
"Go away! Scat!"
He waves his hands and scrounges up his face
To look as fierce as he can.

I stand up and stretch my arms In greeting to the beautiful day.
It's wonderful to be alive,
To live for the day,
To smell the fresh morning air,
To feel the first rays of the sun on your skin,
To hear the sparrows twitter in their nests
In the eaves,
To be truly alive.

Then I lazily gather my bundles
Knowing the time has come to leave
When the guard takes a few menacing steps.