Assumptions
you move
along the sidewalk
pushing a cart
with all your belongings
only a thin white blanket
lying tangled
within the basket
and twice-crumpled newspaper
what do I assume about you?
you pass by
the restaurant window
and stop to rest
from your labor
pull the blanket free
to wrap it around your shoulders
and the newspaper
flies up and into the traffic
you watch it go
with sadness
resolute
in your eyes
what do I assume about you?
I assume
this night
your sleep
will be a little colder
I assume
the dark will be lonelier
without the whisper of words
against your skin
Pamela Olson, 3/5/08
This poem is in response to the prompt from Three Word Wednesday (rest, sidewalk, twice).
