By Steve Coughlin

We commend your anonymity—
how you move among us
on the subway
and up stairwells
of nondescript buildings.
We commend how you expect
nothing more
than to be an extra
in the background
of our lives
as we flee into restaurants
escaping the hustle of sidewalks
to be seated at important
tables reserved hours
in advance. At the summer concert series
you ask to be nothing
but the distant blurry face
in our pictures. And when our lives
devolve into arguments
at the park—when one of us
accuses another one
of us with words
that shatter—you’re the one
on your bike
who takes no notice
but moves through the day
with placid ease.
Oh Man in a Baseball Cap
thank you
for providing
necessary texture
to these moments of our lives!
And even more
thank you
for asking nothing of us
as we experience the treacherous depths
of human experience—
our conflicts and contradictions—
upon this stage
where we can’t stop believing
some audience
in some abstract way
observes us
and feels deeply
for our struggles
as you sit in the background
sipping a drink
hunched over a life without need.

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Steve Coughlin is the author of poetry collections Another City and Deep Cuts.