Less Than Tragic

Even before he looks he knows
the faces on the bus, some
going to work and some coming back,
but each sealed in its hunger
for a different life, a lost life.
Where he’s going or who he is
he doesn’t ask himself, he
doesn’t know and doesn’t know
it matters.

Poem fragment from “Every Blessed Day” by Philip Levine
Published in What Work Is (Knopf, 1992)

(via zavila)