What is called the common world
proceeds in spite of
uncommon patterns in
a winterlike spring
I escape as a commoner
into a garage
meant to house the vehicles
of those unlike me
and I encounter
a group of drunk youngsters
who snicker at my homeless
condition
I focus intently without appearing to be
checking out these privileged brats
with the absence of color
slumming in a habitat
I cannot avoid
I watch them watching me
bonded with them
by the reciprocating
nature of distrust
I feel the vibrations
of hate radiating
from their souls
knowing this emotion
is always needed in me
as a response
to the bullshit
they invite
—Jay Cornelius