The Boy Behind the Window by Joan Reeves

The little boy behind the rain-speckled window
watches the ebb and flow of humanity.
Busy street astir with nameless, faceless sparks of human energy—
swirling near and around one another without coalescence.

Smart, well-suited men stride briskly by with briefcases—
speaking their usual curt, clipped tones into alien headgear.
Coquettish young women clutching cell phones a la main
chatter animatedly to invisible paramours.
The lonely young man in the coffeehouse window
gazes achingly at a persistent screen of promise while
playing his half in a duet of silent hunger on his keyboard.

Now the traffic swishes past rhythmically in opposing directions,
pulled by the unearthly tide of the traffic lights.
An old man pulled by a weary old dog
walks alone under his umbrella,
untouched by the digital din around him staring vacantly at the
disappearing car with the little boy behind the rain-speckled window.



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