I See Unseen

[This is Violet's lovely photography, not mine]

From the corner of my eye I can tell that
the man who lowers himself into the chair
next to me is ex-military, as he types
his log-in name on the keyboard.
I see, from the corner of my eye, that his shirt
is blue and crisp, yet untucked. He sits up ram-
rod straight, his hair is short. His every
movement bespeaks pride, contained power, waiting
He rises and strides, easily, away

From my table in the corner I learn
that the postman has either left his church
already steeped in religion, or
he has begun attending, but isn't buying the spiel
or the tapes, I'm voting on the former. He has met
a woman-at this new church he doesn't claim
as his-who is a radiologist with a heart
for the less fortunate masses, I glean this all
from a four-word sentence, as the the brown-
clothed men breeze by with their carts