Thanks to Billy Collins

It was at Powell’s Bookstore in Portland,

the smaller one on Hawthorne Street,

                   that the thought struck. 

 

“What has Billy Collins done lately?”

 

I was in the poetry section, looking to see if  they carried any books

    by Danusha Lamerís. 

 

But no. 

 

I then remember liking Carl Dennis and found a new book of his poems,

    but the few I read failed to connect. 

 

It was a short trip from D to C and there you were, Billy Collins,

with your  new book titled “Whale Day.”

 

I lifted you out, brought you to the counter and then to the table

In the adjoining café, hoping it was worth the $17 

    to notice more carefully

the cerulean blue plate the held my Everything bagel 

    spread with cream cheese.

To behold the dotted spilled seeds making their pattern on the plate

    as if to fortune-tell a future as sure as coffee drippings in Turkey.

To marvel at the shadow cast by the tall glass half-filled with cold brew coffee

as the rare Portland sunshine spilled through the window.

 

These little act of attention that are your specialty a needed antidote to

     the harsh truth that perhaps my Anne Frank faith in the goodness of people

           is terribly misplaced, given today’s news, 

                   and yesterday’s

                            and almost certainly tomorrow’s.

 

It was money well-spent.