The Scale Tips The Wrong Way

The Scale Tips The Wrong Way



In Hawaii,
I've seen three lanes of solid traffic
just silently merge into two
so the ambulance
never had to slow down.
Cars, a sheet of paper
from each other,
windows down so
side mirrors can overlap.
People smile and talk to total strangers.
After, the cars once more,
silently, resume their original lanes
and continue on in their journey.

Yesterday,
three lifetimes passed,
and someone died
because people
couldn't
get out of their own way.

In Hawaii,
Kapuna speak softly
and the children listen
even if they do not always hear
the message with both ears.
Eventually, the ears will dance,
and the child learns.

Today I watched
a tired child pull on mother's arm
as mother pulled reluctant one along.
Until his legs folded, collapsed mid-aisle.
In tears, he lay on the floor.
The mother yelled, her voice strident
as squawking goose.
There would be no dancing.

In Hawaii,
people stop
when the sun sets beyond the mountain
or sinks into the sea. Cars pull to the side of the road,
And the people, as one, native and tourist,
acknowledge the passing
of the day they've been given.

At home,
we stop even though the sun sets
over neighbor's house, bisected
by trees and wires, allowing but a glimpse.
Did you see the sunset? But no,
they hadn't noticed at all.
Any more than the day
they took for granted.