Hiding in Plain Sight


You see me every day, walking fast, or slow
On the street, walking, aided or no,
On the bus, sleeping,
In a car, enduring traffic, for work not play.

You might say I should relax; I don't need to labor.
I've done enough in my time, it's golden years now.
No, I wish that I could, but I need the money...
To eat, to pay for shelter and clothes, water and gas,
to keep the failing transportation running, day to day.

Yes, cost of living is high;
and cost of not working higher.
Yet often the sight of my experience,
tied to my salted hair or lined countenance,
turns people away from considering
how my experience could be an asset.

Others labor, I'm hunting for something fulfilling,
at the least for the budget. My hope, that God will
provide, as He always seems to, at the moment of
my desperation, just in time, just enough. Once more.

Seemingly hard to stand out; guess I'm hiding in
plain sight...as we so many do. Give grace as you can.

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