it's just your turn

it's in the face,

the eyes.

the look of a person.

just a glance

before they notice you

and you can read the story

of their life.

relaxed and calm,

a gentle smile, someone

quick to say hello,

or a grimace,

the carved lines,

as if they're holding on

with both hands to

what's missing.

to what's gone wrong?

they hardly notice you

as you pass them,

dark and forlorn.

sometimes it's your turn,

and other times

it's mine.