With the gravity of a page's silent plight
he's dragging his leg along
while his eyes are tracing the sidewalk
for trash and bottles and coins
you can tell he is talking
and in your language, too
by the rhythm of his lips-
quivering as he goes
but you don't hear a sound
except for the uproar
of a million minivans
speeding up and honking horns
as the traffic lights have turned
and the audience moves on.
