A poem

People spill into the open market,

elbows collide, hands fly, sellers

relentlessly shriek at buyers

when a soft bump against my leg

veers me off the market current

and a child's small plea, "Excuse me,"

thunders exoneration for us all.

Child eyes move into me

safely, sweetly jarring a memory

that to honor another is enough

to break the inertia of indifference.

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