Perhaps they don't see me.

The following is a prose poem based on my experiences in Iowa City and, well, everywhere....

Perhaps they don’t see me.

Perhaps they were born without peripheral vision. Perhaps their mothers took too long to select a brand of peas at the supermarket so they tumbled from the cart behind her and landed on mushy toddling necks. Perhaps they’re color blind and embarrassed. Perhaps they’ve watched too many horror films - Freddy is everywhere. Perhaps they developed a rare leg disease that makes pausing painful. Perhaps when they were five their older brothers whispered into their dark yellow ear caves: ‘You know leprechauns live in sidewalks, right?’ Perhaps they’re still looking for gold. Perhaps they have a recurring nightmare where they’re killed by clouds. Perhaps they’re very very late for a very very important something. Perhaps they’re retracing their steps, searching for what they lost. Perhaps nature’s boring and people are ugly. Perhaps 4G coverage comes with a free mind wipe. Perhaps they have a good excuse. Perhaps I’m mad, no. Disappointed, no. Lonely. Desperate. Sad. I have beautiful eyes.