The crazy person

Every once in a while
You go into a place
Where you cannot avoid
The crazy person.

I wonder why it shocks us,
Even momentarily,
When the crazy person
Isn’t dressed in ragged clothes
And smells like sweat and street.

Debating in grocery aisles,
Fuming in teller lines,
Teaching classrooms full
Of unsuspecting,
Cornered you’s and me’s.

Do you smile at the crazy person?
Or look up, down, away?
Do you nodd at their left/right/out there phrases
Or pretend not to hear them?

What would be worse?
Engaging them or having them repeat their
There statements?
Sometimes there is
No lesser evil.

2007