I sidestep a sweating middle-aged man carrying skisinto UPS, hopscotch in and out of the gutter to escape
an Uber Eats e-bike doing thirty the wrong way.
Last week we went camping in Rhode Island,
ended up awake past midnight on rocky dirt, a man
in the next tent shouting into the phone about his stolen
Amazon package. Two workers in blue jumpsuits
plant a tree outside Trader Joe’s. The man in ragged black
always holding the door opens it and says, “God bless.”
I’ve never seen anyone give him change. I browse
the produce; I don’t buy him anything. On the sidewalk
on the way home, blue graffiti: SEA LEVEL 2050—
this island’s known for conquest. I put away
my frozen dinner. The onion I bought is rotten,
but I’m a good citizen: I’ll place it in the compost bin.
