You hold elevator doors,
pick litter off sidewalks,
tip generously.
Hope that somehow it balances
the blind eyes,
the petty jealousies,
the bumbling gaffes when words
just didn’t come out right.
Sins of omission.
These are no Great Thing.
Yet, as drops in the bucket,
they grow to drowning weights.
3/5/17
Aphra's Pen 