those who cannot
see past the end
of broken promises
will find themselves bumping
into your
hopes;
those who stumble along,
twisting their ankles in
despair's potholes,
will discover you
on your knees,
a trowel in your hand
smoothing out the cement
poured
into the cracks in their
lives;
those who carry one
kid on their
hip, with another
about to burst out,
will be invited
to your play
group;
those who populate
the walls
at proms, and the
young men with two
left feet
will win the ballroom
competition;
those who can't carry
a tune
(and haven't for the last
60 years or so)
will record a CD
with Susan Boyle;
those who always
see their glass half
empty
and about to be
knocked over,
will do a cannonball
into your pools of
pure grace.
(c) 2010 Thom M. Shuman
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