Saturday's Poem: Tuesday 9 a.m.

any pain

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Just yesterday as I was waiting in the check-out line at a store in town, I noticed that the pretty young clerk, after handing some change to the person in front of me, just stood there for a moment or two with her head down and eyes closed, rubbing her temples, mentally elsewhere, ignoring us all. Then she quietly sighed, took a deep breath, and looked up to deal with her next customer, who happened to be me.

Now I readily admit that I am one of those people who is often impatient and usually in a hurry; I have an urban East coast rhythm, I guess – or as my sister once put it (quoting Woody Allen, I think):  I can make coffee nervous. But there was something about the way this woman paused that made me wonder. She had more than just a headache. "Are you all right?" I asked.

"It's just that my husband has cancer," she said, in barely a whisper. "I'm not getting any sleep, and..."

There were tears in her eyes.

"I just need to get some rest..." And she proceeded with the transaction, but I remembered again that we never know what someone else is going through, and it is best to navigate with patience and compassion.

The message I took away from this is the same as the quote from Plato I used to keep on my refrigerator as a daily reminder:  "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

And that's why I love this poem. Because struggles abound, all around us, whether or not the flames are visible, and someone at the bus stop right next to you on an ordinary Tuesday morning, or the girl behind the check-out counter, may be enduring great pain.  This poem reminds us to look outside of our own personal drama now and then, notice what others are going through, and proceed with kindness.

TUESDAY 9 a.m. by Denver Butson

A man standing at the bus stop
reading the newspaper is on fire
Flames are peeking out
from beneath his collar and cuffs
His shoes have begun to melt

The woman next to him
wants to mention it to him
that he is burning
but she is drowning
Water is everywhere
in her mouth and ears
in her eyes
A stream of water runs
steadily from her blouse

Another woman stands at the bus stop
freezing to death
She tries to stand near the man
who is on fire
to try to melt the icicles
that have formed on her eyelashes
and on her nostrils
to stop her teeth long enough
from chattering to say something
to the woman who is drowning
but the woman who is freezing to death
has trouble moving
with blocks of ice on her feet

It takes the three some time
to board the bus
what with the flames
and water and ice
But when they finally climb the stairs
and take their seats
the driver doesn't even notice
that none of them has paid
because he is tortured
by visions and is wondering
if the man who got off at the last stop
was really being mauled to death
by wild dogs.