84/365: my people

I contemplate the fifteen kinds of jerky -
two turkey and thirteen beef -
by the register at Walmart.

The blessings of far flung lands
burst into the aisles
and spill forth from end caps
and I wander amongst them
as I once did bookstores
(when there were bookstores)
considering the potential.
There is a book aisle at Walmart,
do not fear,
if you want to relive for forty feet of shelf space
what that other life was like.

This is a different kind of potential,
but not so different as the hipsters
would have you believe.

These are my people, I tell you.
They are dreamers dreaming dreams.
They are building castles in the sky
under which they hope to some day
put foundations.

They do not keep pace with you,
and they have not heard
of Henry David Thoreau and his project
to eat beans and drink water
and do nothing but sit by a pond,
so mock them.
But with their XXXL leopard print spandex
they too ride their scooters
to the beat of a drummer
you cannot hear.