One to the Other

walk the Saturday street, full
of customers, but do it quietly and
pause beneath the green awnings
before entering.

each shop praises goodness in its
own way, the aisles where two people must
squeeze by, bumping rumps to excuse selves wrapped
in thought.

the little folk can’t see much, their
heads reaching up high enough, they
think, but the tables too tall for
competence, so little hands guess what to touch, what
to bring down to nose level, and mothers lost
in concentration can’t help
the shattered cup, the broken bluebird,
the statue of remorse for little
persons anguished by the accidents
of causality.