because we are, deep down inside
all of us
just a small scared lonely child
screaming to be loved
by Oscar Vuong
Rush-hour on the A rain. A blind man
staggers forth, his cane tapping lightly
own the aisle. He leans against the door,
raises a violin to chin, and says I’m sorry
to bother you, folks. But please. Just listen.
And it kills me, the word sorry. As if something like music
it would help me immensely.