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by June Blumenson
At first glance he appears to be praying,
a kind faced man sitting on a park bench,
head bowed, downcast eyes, hands cupped
in silent meditation. Then his thumbs
twitter. Oh, he's holding his phone.
Is he shopping for a right-now bargain,
addicted to instant news, reading mail,
checking weather? Does he even notice
the jogger loping to keep up along side
his greyhound? Does he inhale the scent
of magnolias, hear lake waves tease
the shore? But who am I to say, lost
in my own thoughts, making judgements.
Ruining my day. Maybe he's texting a friend
a view he seized of a boat sailing by.