Moving to the city,
the country boy learned
not to smile, nod or say hello
to people on the street,
joggers in the park
He learned to shift his eyes aside,
look up the sides of buildings,
at tree branches overhead,
anomalies in the sidewalk cement
After a morning run, he showered,
scrambled eggs, read the headlines,
puzzled to himself how humans
could lose animal instincts
to gather together as did
the cows he used to milk
He followed the people at the office
into downtown bars after work
and noticed even as they talked
and laughed about nothing much
they kept looking up at the TV screen
to watch other people talking
And to think he’d moved to the city
because he’d been lonely at nights
with nobody to talk to but the stock