Marketing Messiah

It was the street lights.

They had brought you out
from the tarnished shadows
so that you could gleam for me.

The plaza bustled,
barely containing the
flury of businessmen in suits
and shoppers succinctly shifting bags
from arm to arm as they
stood still, laughing in front of
the sparkling displays of ugly shoes
pretending they thought such atrocities
were beautiful.

They might have stared at you,
or I should say they would have
stared at you, if they hadn’t been blinded
by the Prada handbag
with the tacky buckles.

You aren’t blind though, are you.
You sat there and stared
into the planter of a sickly shrub
that held the remnants
of a Happy
Meal.

I approached to see what you
were devouring with empty eyes
full of such intense focus.

You noticed my awareness, stood
and went away, almost running.
I thought of chasing you down
and forcing a conversation on you
but saw no logic in the act and
crouched where you had stooped
instead.

It took a moment
for me to see
and another
to understand.
Why had you bled so much
intent upon the ground by
an ordinary slice of sidewalk?

Was it the curse word
carved in concrete or
the slippery pattern of the stained
ground?

Was it the self important
posture of the shrub
that struck you so
or the thundering march of
ants along the metal grate?

I did see the shadow
that looked like
some sort of savior
from the name brand temple
around me and
savored the moment where
I alone noted the microcosm.

Did you?

or had your shoelace
unraveled its twisted
form, forcing you
to squat there
on the dirty
street by
the
sickly bush
in front of an ugly
handbag with tacky buckles
for me to notice under a
street light with my
bags weighing
heavily
on my arms?