People Are People Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I watched a hound
Masticate his barenaked
Bone and he was
Relishing at that moment
And I thought,
How lucky this
Wayward creature is.

I watched the bars
As they filled with patrons.
I watch them impede themselves
With small deaths
And I thought,
There is still luck in these establishments
But I guess we search for it
In the wrong places.

The trivialities are outnumbering
Us – this travesty claims what
We have long secured inside
Our bodies.

And I thought, only a hummingbird
Can fly backwards in its
Perfidiously infinitesimal structure
And I thought
How lucky that bird is.

The insensitive beings
Are lucky too.
Thick as thieves,
Outlasting cold,
Outlasting everything
But themselves.
And they are the only ones
Who can shatter
Things that have been once
Fragmented.
A series of breaking
Unabashed.
And I though, how lucky
These tactless fools are.

But I never wanted to be propitious.
I just want to be whole,
Intact with my soul
And oozing with vital gestures.
With that,
I think they’d say
How lucky I am.

I am not lucky,
I just know how to be human.