Victims of they knownotwhat
lining up for soup and bread
dirty hands cupping expectant
trousers and dress shirts
torn caked in filth stinking high
and then you victim of what?
victim of you knownotwhat
remembering that warm
when a giant hand fell from purple sky
smashing you into smooth white sidewalk;
and you lay there, paralyzed by its weight
until, after a minute or so, it blew away
as if by some gentle hapless summer breeze,
so you stood up again, looked around,
your face compact in embarrassed confusion;
and then, without comment either spoken or silent,
you continued your walk
What’s going on all you victims of this and that?
I’d tell you to pull it together and let it go,
but what would I be referring to?
Many people know how to act, but few know how to help.