By the Library

Two men were singing in a parking lot.
No one on the street seemed to notice.
Or we did but we were bothered,
On our way to where ever we were going.
Like the poet who read before the band played,
Or the redwing blackbird in back of the pizza place.
It’s not what you expect.
It’s like gathering up your day like an armload of groceries
And a can of corn falls and rolls under a counter.
You are tempted to leave it
But you know you can’t.

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