At The Same Red Light Poem by Joe Bisicchia

The world stops its orbit
sometimes for us to stop and see.
Even after countless yellows,
and months of Mondays,
maybe those in other cars as well
sometimes marvel at the wooden grain
of a particular telephone pole

next to the homeless lady
holding out a toughened, textured hand.
It is there for us to sometimes see.
Like countless other unnoticed things.
And then we move on promptly
to somehow pass other countless things
unnoticed somewhere deep in our beings.




Published by FIVE: 2: ONE,2018