It is not a time for those with shopkeeper souls
Meticulous in their ways
Whose daily commutes are ruined
By signs of closed businesses, foreclosed homes
Affronts leading them to drive down more fortunate streets
How to disarm those on
Such a monotonous, finite journey?
Should we fling the sand of Iraq in their faces
Or the mud of tent cities?
Those shopkeeper souls
Whose daily tallies reckon not with the invisible
Never seeking beyond what appears
(So carefully controlled)
Pouting when disturbed by
The sound and sight of others’ suffering
(So carefully avoided)
Shopkeeper souls think not
There but for the grace of God go I
But mutter
Why don’t they pull themselves up by their bootstraps
It is time for the infinite,
The grace of those whose souls dance
Extending a hand , willing to fall
Getting down in the dirt
Eye level with people, not numbers
Seeing them as souls
Not tallying, but rallying
The spirits of the suffering
Embracing reality on every corner
Walking down every street
It is not a time for shopkeeper souls
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