She reads her paper
Oblivious
To its intrusion on my air space
Mine, claimed by possession
Hrumphing if by my presence
I make her fold it into tiny sections
To keep it out of my face
The seats on the train too small
For the size of her and her paper
Who is right?
The size of the seat
Or the space she really needs
Or the space I take by force?
Blond hair, bright, shiny, streaming
Makeup perfect
High-heeled boots
Everyday I walk past her
Behind her
Around her
We get on the same train
At the same time
I work in the same building
At the same company
We ride the same elevators
She's never noticed me
Oblivious
But unhappy
Admiring her new boots
He walks his kids to school
And himself back home
Coffee cup in hand
Not oblivious to me
Wishing he were walking me to school instead
Scraggly beard, sad
Thinking life had to be better than this
Trying to hide it from his family
But I, the stranger, see
Life is hard
In a foreign country
Her chin tells me so
They live, foreigners,
Asians, among nationals
Never looking up, not smiling
Only the kids play
Oblivious
To their collective hardship
But relative wealth
I used to pass him every day
And somehow started saying hi
A teacher I assume
On the way to work
In my town
Always in beige trench coat
With glasses
A hello assumed
An unspoken habit
Without which the day
Didn't seem quite right
I too am a foreigner
In a world of African american culture
It surrounds me on all sides
In the people
On my ride home
They play their boomboxes
And talk loudly amongst themselves
And laugh, and joke and fight
I watch
Wishing I weren't the outsider
Their world seems
So much more fun
Not shackled by the social restraints
Of middle class, white America
Yet still really so
In their history and grandmothers
Who will never let them forget
And rightly so.
Often I feel sad and wonder
If they feel I share the blame
Maybe I do
And every day I try
Not to be oblivious
And every day I try
To be aware.
- December 13, 2001
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