Better Not to Know

I watch people walk up
and down the hill
at the end of the street,
surrounded by others,
cars, and dying stores.
They look past each other
like they aren’t in the same world.
A veil between them as dense
and tall as the colossal
structures around them;
a hotel with dozens of floors,
a bell tower that rings with the hour.
A choir of children walk single
file from a school bus, into
a nursing home, to perform.
I can already hear them
being heckled as far away as I am.
I suspect none of them know how
to play piano. Although sometimes
it’s better not to know.
A street drummer bangs on
storm drains and trashcans
with sticks carved specifically
for professionals.
I approach him and ask
where all of it comes from.
He just shrugs and says he
finds it as he goes.

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