Saturday Poem

People We Will Never See Again

Today, in a crowded doctor’s waiting room,
sat a sad little man of maybe fifty,
wearing a baggy black suit, a black shirt
buttoned to the neck, and black work shoes,

his thinning silver hair oiled back,
and he began singing, but softly, the words
to a song that played from hidden speakers
somewhere above our heavy silence,
music we hadn’t noticed before he began,
in his whispery voice, to sing for us.

by Ted Kooser
from
Kindest Regards
Copper Canyon Press, 2018

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