JUST LIKE THAT

Waiting, I browsed the aisle

and gawked.

A display of braces,

canes and crutches hung

from wall hooks.

Shelved

beneath them were boxes of raised

toilet seats and sanitary briefs

for women and men.

Fish-oil

capsules, melatonin and Biofreeze

offered total health or relief

while U-shaped pillows promised

perfect sleep.

After I paid

my bill, I glimpsed a stripe

of printing pasted on the counter:

“Practice random kindness

and senseless acts of beauty.”

That changed a store devoted

to the prose of remedies for pain

into the laissez-faire of poetry.

Why

was I shocked?

I’d known

for years that anything poetic

happens by surprise, enlightening

as much as lightening, wherever

and whenever.

Just weeks ago

little Sarah exclaimed, “Today

is Friday, but sometimes it’s Tuesday.”

Equally original was what

she said this morning when she woke,

“It’s pitch light outside.”

And there was that total stranger

who saw me frowning between

flights and said, “Smile,

you’re in Pittsburgh.”

And so

I smiled.

And everyone who overheard

him smiled in the selfsame way

that you are smiling now.

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