the found wallet

you find a wallet on the street.
it's full of money and credit
cards, there's a library card too.
green and glossy, unused.
there's a picture of a woman,
a glamour shot. blonde hair
and lipstick, she's staring off
into the clouds as if in
love, or about to fall asleep.
there is another picture of her
in a  bathing suit, showing
off her long tanned legs.
there's a man's driver's license
inside with an address.
the man's face is a pale
pink smudge, a mug shot
of a photo. undeserving
of the queen bee you
judgementally think, but
maybe he had a bad day.
maybe they don't get along.
she's high maintenace needs
a lot of new shoes, and he
drinks to soothe his anxiety
about his job, his wife who
is too beautiful for him.
those legs, that smooth skin.
he can't sleep, look at his
eyes, half mast.
and the lines etched
in his forehead. he's too
young for that face. he
appears worried.  maybe
she's cheating
on him while he slaves away
at work, trying to keep her
in the things she loves. those
shoes. what the hell is wrong
with her being so needy.
you look at the address again
on the driver's license, you
could be there in an hour
on the subway and then
the cross town bus. maybe you
should take the wallet there
yourself and give that woman
a piece of your mind, but no.
it starts to rain. you see a
mailbox on the corner and
drop it in. who's got time
for these people.