James Pickles The Arms of Spring


Walking through the urban market drudge,
sinking ever lower into my heart,
thinking how can we have fallen this far
without being destroyed, or at least hurt,
and generally despairing of the sadness
and pointless inanity of the life around me -

when I passed a grocer on the corner,
unloading vegetables from a truck,
his apron grimy and his flabby jowls
in earnest conversation, uttering
something (how simple) profoundly human:
"I can't do it, Christine. It's just not right."

and then I knew, down in the truth-bone,
there are so many redeeming things.