Vibrations

Those who complain

Have little right

Compared to the homeless veteran

Paper cup in front of him

Three quarters and a nickel showing

A blues harmonica in his mouth echoing harmony

He who complains

Should stop staring

For the passerby is but a human being

Opening her purse

Being human

Dropping another quarter in his cup

All who complain

Take heed of the one who knows well

The kneeling down position

Who reverently curses God

For all the suffering and injustice

He witnesses walking the sidewalks

Seeming to run

Walk

Stumble

Their way to escaping

Too few people

Understand that to complain

Is to avoid the doing

The changing

The effort

To exercise one’s humanness

Such are unspoken words

Vibrations of the blues harmonica

An enigmatic language

Only the uncomplaining can hear