judging

I cant drink my tea until it has cooled down
so I sit and wait, and I watch

the man with the chaotic hair tries to
wrangle his children
(I wonder how he could possibly tame them
if he cant even manage his hair)

in the corner a woman enveloped by her coat
is wrapped up in some novel that is probably
too long for her too

simple issues, simply irresolvable
since  society shuns the thought of change
fearing it, they real and buck

because if your hair is too much for you
how can you be expected to deal with
the world
in its state of continual confusion

if your jacket drags like some tattered robe
it is unfair to insist that you  lug around
everyone
and their problems in their narcissistic
scribbling's

yet even though my tea is too hot to touch
my parched lips, I am worried about
everyone else

after all, while your waiting, stagnant,
the earth around you  spins on.
you are not alone, you are not still but, revolving
uninterrupted!