The world demands

that we be present

each time it reaches our names

on its roster.

It wants us

to be attentive

to the wisdom

of bank tellers.

It demands that we salute

the ones who know

the best bargains,

whose universe is no bigger

than their vocabulary,

who always look

like their passport photographs.

It reminds us that life stains

democratically –

blood and coffee and gravy and time,

chicken-pox and paradox.

It reminds us

that there are no silences

without accents,

no emptiness

without serration.

I’m as corroded by doubt

as you are by certainty.

We meet in rust.