often we do not look up

We walk quickly, we have somewhere to be.
We use headphones, don’t notice the cracks in the cement.
We might look sideways at a swearing mother,
a shoeless man with fat wife.
But we do not look up and smile just because.
We do not look up and stop.

And stop and take in the blue, green,
the stretch of a telegraph pole.
If we did, we might see someone we recognise,
we might slow down.
Or we might see balloons,
up, out of reach,
separate from it all and still so bright,
and maybe this would be enough.