To Judge a Book

I saw a pair of gentle men strolling
down the street today-
one tall, Icabod Crane-ish type
beside him Tweedle-Dumpty
quick-stepped to keep up the stride.
Both dressed in winter twills with scarves
snug neatly beneath lapels
With gloves and adrenaline
to ward off the winter bone-chill air.

I thought of all the types
That inhabit far and near
And thought of you, and you, and you,
All the differences,
All the judgments passed–
And how many delightful people
I hadn’t taken the time to meet.

Perhaps a new resolve I’ll make
To reach out to one or two
And offer her or him a hand
And not let the judgment stand
In the way of being kind.


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