Mouths tight, brows furrowed.
Why? They drive in with their fancy
Cars, thick coats, scarves wrapped round
Their necks like a wreath.
Me? I’m their parking lot decoration.
I move their leftover carts, pick up their trash,
Trudge through the ice and rain and snow
And nod toward their blank faces.
Yet I am. I am! I peer up at the sky
Flakes fall on my nose and I laugh
Which makes them look at me finally
As if I’m crazy and they’re fearful
Of me. Hah. They’re the strange ones.
I smile at a woman and surprise, she
Smiles back and we exchange a glance of
Understanding. Her smile widens as she looks up,
Pokes out her tongue and tastes the snow, as
Sweet as sugar, her expression, and I realize.
She sees me.