The server was clearly incapable
Of handling a minor rush. Poor thing.
Can you reserve some compassion
For the ordinary, for the ordinary
Miseries and failings of this ordinary
World? I have never been near a death
Camp, nor a refugee camp, nor a war zone,
Nor a quarantine, nor a natural disaster.
I don’t trust my instinctive compassion
For them. What do I know of such suffering?
I have been in hospital beds; I have fallen
To the ground broken and screaming.
Those I do know. But what I notice is that
Even in the absence of any pain or horror
A dull day can be hard, hard to handle well,
And compassion for the merely flummoxed,
The insufficiently competent, the harried
Can be hard to come by. I tried. I leaned
On my crutches, sagging as I waited,
And thought, she’s beyond her capacity,
But she’s trying. The ordinary city traffic
Rolled by dully, inconsiderately, outside.
I was beyond my capacity, but I tried.
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