Thinking of Me

There’s so much that I don’t see,

When all I think about is me.

Too preoccupied with my hair,

I don’t see a man waiting there,

Sitting on the curb,

Huddled in the soaking wet.

In his hands, a tin can

And a sign that says:

“Help: homeless army vet.”

Stop to check my reflection

In a door of glass,

Unaware that this is

A hospital I pass.

Within its white walls,

And through its winding halls,

Is a woman,

Clutching her husband’s hands,

Staring at their wedding bands,

Wondering if the cancer will take her life.

Meanwhile, he hides his tears,

Because the one thing that he fears,

Is that he’s about to lose his wife.

When I check that my shirt’s okay,

I don’t see the parents weeping

’Cause their baby ran away,

Don’t notice the mourners crying

At the funerals of all the dying.

Or the little girl stuck on the outside,

Just wanting to run and hide,

’Cause no one wants to be her friend.

I don’t know what’s around the other bend.

If there’s something better on the way,

It doesn’t really matter.

I probably won’t notice anyway.

There’s so much I don’t see,

When all I think about is me.

I am frugal with my compassion,

One of the few things in my possession:

A symptom of my subjection

To chronic self-obsession.

This vanity is a burden on my soul,

A shadow I can’t escape,

An impulse I can’t control.

It is a virus that has spread,

Infecting my heart and my head.

Now I know:

There’s so much that I can’t see,

When I’m so focused on me…

                                                   me…

                                                             me…

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