Shortly after John Prine
danced an Irish jig,
we boarded the train
Ravina to Chicago.

It was crowded.

Two mirror opposite women 
squeezed
into the seat facing us.

The brunette asked, “What are you reading?”
and I passed Mary Oliver’s
Swan, opened to
the first poem “What Can I Say”

They read it together, the blonde
silently mouthing the 
words.

“I like this!”

Yes.
There is a poem
for every person.  

Recall the year of Kevin Coval’s
A People’s History of Chicago.

There was a poem 
for film lover Carla
for feminist sociologist Miriam
for Paulo the Marxist economist

There was a poem 
for former Black Panther Billy Che 
for Nathan a proud gay man
for Phyllis who loves music

There is a poem for every person.