Although all are not
created equal,
America's most
egailitarian institution is
the rest area,
where only the display
of a handicapped
parking tag offers
any semblance of
advantage.
And while we assess the merits
of the facility
on criteria of cleanliness, perception of
safety, refreshment selection,
and hand-drying technology,
everyone — the biker, the banker,
the trooper, the trucker,
the lawyer, the laborer
the chaffeur and the chauffeured —
every ripple in the roiling river of humanity
called America
has to scramble past
the temptations of fast food
and vending machines
to tend to the business
no one, no matter how rich
or otherwise powerful, can outsource,
ignore, or pay someone
under the table to
attend to.
This poem first appeared in Edison Literary Review.
Used here with the author's permission.