Blank Faces

There are many of us out there.
We see buildings, homes, shops, bars,
and high rises, and there must be many
people there, but we meet very
few.  We sit next to people on the
bus, at a ball game or on the beach,
yet we do not speak, and if we do, a
strange look is directed our way.  How
many good people do we pass, yet never


written by Chich, Chicago's Australian Poet Laureate


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