Little kingdoms

Having lived in a little kingdom
of one kind or another forever
I am always intrigued to see
evidence of a little k.
in public
you know
the frantic parent
swats or doesn’t swat
cusses at or doesn’t
the frantic screaming kid
the wife and kids cluster separately
and behind the emperor of himself
the old couple walks
hand in hand
the dog barks forever
in the car
in the yard
in the wild
the grim-lipped matron
peruses her shopping list
the kid cries silently
in the back yard
the little girl hugs her mommy
grinning like mad
the obese redneck
loads chips and pop and cheeze wiz
and hotdogs and loaves of white bread
onto the checkout counter
the slender vegetarian
chants a mantra at the bus stop
the wool swathed girl sits
comfortably akimbo sketches in black ink
on the leatherbound cream hard paper
of her comfortable journal
the bag lady
swears under her breath
at the teenager whose bike
careens past her too close
the guy drives grim-faced
while his wife glares out her window
at the dog pissing on the lampost
two young cig-toting women waddle
down the street surrounded by kids
who should be in school
a couple in grubby sweatpants
chain smoke all the way down the street
a guy in a shiny chrome sweetened pickup
drops his skinny wife and kids off
in the slush in front of Walmart
in threadbare fleece pjs
a clean shaven guy in a suit
with a sample case and twitching eyes
sits drinking coffee in a mall restaurent
before he goes to the house
with a gun and shoots everyone including
a clergyman smiles at you professionally
and suddenly we are all looking at
your kingdom reading your mind
knowing your rules for everyone
in your little k.