In the marketplace I stand amongst the hurrying, teaming crowd. Unsteady and distracted I look on, peering into the eyes, peeping through the occasionally audible syllable. I can decipher much sorrow, an eight year old with bruises and cuts, a father of two with his fractured arm walks by, the mother unable to maintain the family budget during the festive season has obvious concerns marked all over the countenance, the incessant demanding shoppers drain the salesman on the counter of his patience, the man with the sweeper’s broom swears and swears hard.
I know I am willingly overlooking the joy of child as his mother aids his cuts, the fathers ecstasy at his kids assisting him, I turn my eyes against the shopping mothers fulfillment, I recognize I am artfully deceiving myself into perceiving the alacrity of the salesman as his impatience.
For once I am forced to contemplate is that hard swearing a loud, unapologetic expression of joy?
1 Comments:
dts ritn so b'fully
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