You sometimes think, What
does any of this have to do with me?Everything, of course. You and the
8 billion breathe the same air,
recycled from the air early Africans
breathed before the land
got named Africa. The children
bombs, bullets, and missiles kill
for not one single good goddamned reason
raise your ire, eve if you ire's impotent.
The woman earning her wage
at the cafe knows your name,
and you know hers, and you two
sometimes speak of San Francisco.
At any moment, someone you have
never met may need your help,
and you theirs. Still, a person
knows that others plan the future--
often by refusing to plan, often
with sinister, even evil, habits in play.
No way the future belongs to you.
You ask no one, To whom does it
belong?" You take a last gulp
of coffee bean syrup and watch
the woman pull the wool hat
over her ears and go outside
to smoke a cigarette, check
her phone, and be alone. On
the way out, you hold a door
for a stranger. He says, "Thanks,'
and you say, "You're welcome."
Hans Ostrom 2024
