The billionaire's enraged. Angry
with women, with labor unions, with
"woke" people (but not mad enough
to say what he means by that word).
Lava-livid with academics,
except the ones whose research
undergirds his products. He's ticked
off with a former wife and a "disloyal"
child. He's not, though, especially upset
with neo-Nazis. Meanwhile,
the fellow who bags the groceries
people buy and retrieves carts
from the parking lot in cold rain,
cheerfully greets me. We exchange
polite words and laugh. He reminds
me not to forget that he's placed
items at the bottom of the cart.
"Yesterday, two people forgot theirs,"
he cautions. He seems to like
his minimum-wage job and life
well enough not to project rage.
The angry billionaire will "earn"
14 million dollars today. My mind,
as it doesn't forget to load the under-cart
items in the back of my car, goes
to Steve, the man who bagged
the tomatoes and rice and
so on. . . . His red-bearded
face, full of good will.
Hans Ostrom 2024
