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Do you mean the ones who live on the other side?
Clear across the ocean, two miles in from the tide?

The ones that live with little means or the ones that live like we were meant to?
That work, play, stress, fear, and cry, just like we do?

The men who were created from the earth and the women from Adam's rib?
The ones who fall asleep staring at the same galaxies wondering if we're all there is?

Do you mean the ones in straw houses near dirt roads?
That learn how to survive on the land and wear the clothes that they sew?

Others and me,
I'm sorry, pardon me... I'm just slightly confused
Because when I think of them, I think of me
I can't separate the two.
ReflectionPoetry.com

Thanks for the topic!! It's a good one. :)
 Sep 2016 jackierutherford
martin
He picks them up at random
Takes them out
Becomes engrossed in one
Then the next

Finished with them
He dumps them back
Where he found them
A little worse for wear
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