junk mail

sometimes
your empathy is lacking.
evaporated in
the struggle
of your own day to day
living.
keeping the belt
moving,
boxing each day
and stamping for mail.
you hear
the words, the pleas,
the sorrow
of others, but they fall
short of penetrating
your skin.
they drop to the floor
like junk mail,
as if you didn't care.
you do. but at the moment,
well, you don't.
tomorrow maybe.