keep it moving

at the end of a long line,
I watched a woman ahead
of me
adjust her breasts,
one after the
other.
her eyes darted around to
see if anyone had noticed.
I quickly
looked to the floor until she
turned around.
I glanced back up
and
smiled to myself.

these, the actions we
don't want anyone
to see.
the man behind me,
cupping his balls,
digging in to the root,
aiming for the center.

the guy with the logos
all over his clothes, looking
proud, standing firm, picking his nose
and touching the same pen that I will
use to ensure my own transaction.

the little girl standing by the counter,
wondering why those other girls at
school pick on her because she's
quiet when her parents tell her that
she is too loud.

the young man filling out the papers
who molests children because he was
molested. he's too ignorant of empathy to
understand that he's caught in a viscous
cycle. he can't see outside of his own
tortured mind to progress beyond it.

to the thirty-something behind the counter,
stealing to help pay for his addiction, hoping
that he doesn't get caught, hoping the needle
marks don't show.

or the guy with his pants loose and
the gun tucked in his waist, waiting for the
perfect moment when the adrenalin kicks
and he can rob the place.

and the drunk outside on the steps with
a cup, asking for sympathy for loosing his house
and his family. the only thing that covers the pain
is the numb that comes from another bottle. and
he's worried that he will have to sleep somewhere
else tonight because the kids keep fucking with
him behind the dumpster.

the woman who is trying to make it on
eight dollars and fifty cents an hour,
waiting to deposit her weekly check
that will go to rent. she can't stomach
the thought
of how
she will
feed her
kids
that
week.

the tired bastard filing papers in the back
who is thinking about ending it all because
his wife is cheating on him with the
neighbor who has the fancy red car in
the driveway and doesn't think twice about
screwing over his own wife. he gets paid in
a couple of days and he can buy that
shotgun he's always wanted.

and the secretary who is getting dick in the back
from a delivery driver, dropping off forms so
everyone will have a job tomorrow. the driver's
secret is safe for now. it will be a few weeks
before the secretary tests positive at the doctor's
office.

and me, waiting in line, wondering about it all.
the small things. the insignificant nothings that
keep the world turning on end.