I Found a Smile Today

I found a smile today. A truck piled high
with oranges swerved suddenly as if to pull
into my lane and saw me there, swerved back
before I had to brake, and one lone orange
toppled off into the road. I couldn't stop to pick
it up, but managed to avoid it with my tires,
and so perhaps it lies there still, just waiting
for the person it rolled off the truck to find.
I found a grin today, but was appalled how easily
somebody stole it off my face, a cutting comment
uttered where a kind remark belonged. I took it
back, of course, because a grin is too important
to just leave with someone who cannot
appreciate its value or its power
I found a laugh today, a belly laugh so deep
that I couldn't carry on the story I was telling,
a laugh that lodged, stuck in my throat to come
back out when somewhere in the distance I could
hear the sound of orange squishing under tires, or
when the thief of grins walked boldly through the door.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014