I watch the old bag lady. She picks up trash like newfound treasure.
Other people’s garbage gives her such pleasure.
Her stooped body hides in layers of clothes under a coat of rags.
She shuffles down the street, her life’s secrets tied up in bags.
As I watch her I begin to realize how different but the same are our two lives.
I, too, hide many layers and carry nearly tied up bags.
I come out only when I want to, or hide in garbage and rags.
I’ve survived by looking at life’s tiny treasures,
rather than pain, always looking for small pleasures.
Our lives are so different, yet the same, the difference only the rules of the game.