The Day I Passed Your Place

I passed your place today.
That home of rotting fruit
and wooden handcarts.
A reminder of how shaken
I’d once been, slipped over me.
A blanket of hatred:
your face reddened with rage.
Why ?

My path crossed yours,
and nothing more.
A father collecting his child,
calm because work was over.
Thinking about preparing a meal.
And on after bedtime stories,
into a weekend of playgrounds,
sandpits, and peanut butter malts.

And yet there it is,
emanating from your open mouth:
unchecked anger.
And oh how I felt inside.
So what did you do next.
Did that hatred subside,
or was it all consuming,
taking you to the gutter.

A slide towards oblivion.
You see what its like to presume;
it leads nowhere.
Go back into your hole,
and sit among the rotting things.
Reflect a little.
Breath slowly, like I did,
on the day I passed your place.

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