For Most People

This poem is for most people

Who never read poetry,

Who, when it meets them in the street,

Excuse themselves and walk ahead

To deadlines and haircuts.

Most people, unlike some people,

Never watch themselves laugh,

Hardly feeling the rude gulps of air

Playing inside their bellies.

(Perhaps it was gas?)

Most people forget,

And need to be reminded,

Of that brief whispering moment

When the curse of daily grief lifts

And this bent world delightfully curves

Around the wispful arc of our dreams.