Kenaway*
My curiosity about others distracts me
when I run errands. I squint into their faces
to discern what’s behind their masks,
masks for safety in these pandemic times,
or the mask of a public image they want
to project. I peer into their shopping carts
to imagine their meals. Cook or no?
In line, instead of checking my list,
I judge others’ purchases of snack foods,
soft drinks, chips, the frozen meals.
I guess the number in their household,
determine if they have cats or dogs
or both. What I want is a hidden camera
to watch their morning rituals, their habits
as they rise from bed to brush their teeth,
their personal quirks as they dress to start
the day. What annoys them or gives them joy?
Who among these strangers speaks kindly
to their children, shows interest in the chatter
of neighbors and elderly relatives? Everyone’s
a mystery, a mélange of a past that formed
them. What are their fears and secrets? What
histories would they least want anyone
to know? Especially someone like me,
who would surely place them
tenderly in a story or poem.
*Kenaway. Noun. The longing to see how other people live their lives when they’re not in public.
From The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig.
Joan Mazza is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self. Her poetry has appeared in Atlanta Review, The Comstock Review, Prairie Schooner, Slant, Poet Lore, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia.
