i like to stop
and listen to 'crazy' people sometimes
listen to their ravings
with a total lack of judgment
and even let them know i am listening
the woman today with her tattered valise
on the corner of fifth & morrison
i dismounted the bus to the rhythm of her rant
she looked at me passing by
with some disdain
i made eye contact
unlike most of the john q publicks:
who tend to avoid eye contact
bustle by with their blinders firmly in place.
and while i stood on the corner
paying her heed,
she glanced my way smiling
i smiled back as she continued raving but now smiling
perhaps it was the first time
in a long time
somebody had actually listened
perhaps she's smiling still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem